


Just One More Taste (Again)

by Casity



Series: Taste [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Brothers, Drugs, Robin: Jason, Trying your best even when your best is barely getting by
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-07-28 10:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casity/pseuds/Casity
Summary: AU. Dick gets hurt. Everyone tries to help, but in the end it's Jason who knows how to make it better.Sequel to: Just One More TasteChapter Seven:Jason snatched up his screwdriver, brandishing it so Dick could see. "I learned to sleep with this as a kid. You? You learned to sleep being tucked in with stuffed animals. When scary shit happened to me, I had to either fight or shut-up and accept it. You? You just run down the hall to Bruce."





	1. Chapter 1

Dick wondered why. (Drugs)

Dick wondered how. (Drugs)

Why was he still alive and how was he supposed to walk through the frat house and take his leave? How was he expected to ever move again?

Fear had been a constant flicker for the past hour and a half. Fear and pain and unwanted huffs of air that had been breathed against his body. Fingers that had forced, pulled and shoved. The high fives, the laughter, even the apology he'd been given by one of the five students.

They were done with him, had been done for a good forty minutes. Dick's awareness had returned, faint but available. He simply had to access it. Pushing up off the bed he collected his clothes, all the while refusing to wince or complain. He felt the pain, but refused to acknowledge it.

It wasn't there.

He wasn't here.

Yet he was.

Years of training, years of preparation. He shouldn't be here.

As a kid, his mother had always played a game with him: Going on a Bear Hunt.

"Going on a bear hunt.

Gonna catch a big one.

I'm not scared.

Done this before!

Oh no!

A river. A big winding river.

Can't go over it.

Can't go under it.

Can't go around it.

Got to go through it…"

That's where he was now. He couldn't go over it. He couldn't go under it. He couldn't around it. That left… 'No.' He refused the pain and fled to the window, unlocked and stumbled out.

Mentally, there was no way in hell he'd go through it.

 

Walking was the only option. He had to get back to his loft, and while hailing a cab would've been easiest, he just … He couldn't. He placed one foot in front of the other, Gotham air brushing his skin and occasionally drawing scents that had been rubbed and forced into his skin.

Dick puked the first two times this happened.

He puked a third time at the feeling of something trickling down his leg.

After those three it was dry heaves or spitting out the collectively bad taste in his mouth.

Walking home was hard, but it was the only option. His head buzzed, a mix of drugs and shock, but he made it within an hour. He unlocked his door, entered, locked back up and gave his head a shake. The familiar, semi feeing of home, tried to unearth something inside him. He forced it back down with a firm slap against his face.

The sting that resulted helped.

Dick lingered, focusing on the pain to walk over and take a seat on his bed.

4 AM passed.

5 AM passed.

6 AM passed.

Wait, what? How long had it been? Dick panicked momentarily in realization that he was sitting in his soiled clothes, surrounded by smells he never wanted to experience EVER again. He almost tripped as he hurried into the shower. How much soap? No, no good. Shampoo and even Clean & Clear were applied all over to rid himself of the scent.

The water was becoming cold and he forced himself out.

Laundry sheets.

Dick snagged a handful before collapsing onto the couch. He rubbed the thin cloths into his skin. He stuffed the remaining five into his pillow and held it to his face.

That was better.

No, not better. His thoughts were starting up. He turned the television on, started a movie on his iPad, and played music from his phone. Once surrounded by constant noise he returned to his pillow, shoving his face into the fabric and breathing deep. 'Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!'

 

"You went off grid for three days, Dick! Complete dark. I don't care why, and I don't want to hear your excuses." Bruce had walked into the sitting room to find his eldest in the overstuffed chair and Jason sprawled on the couch.

The two had been partially surprised by his entrance. He'd gotten home earlier than anticipated, in hopes to track down and ensure his newly sober (and reinstated / JLA approved) son was ok. He assumed Dick was using and drinking again, even after all the progress they'd made, and it infuriated him.

"I came to explain-."

"We're drugs involved?! Drinking?!"

The hesitation was a painful, a nonverbal 'yes'.

"I don't need your help Dick, Jason and I'll take care of things. You've apparently got more strenuous troubles. Focus on those." And with that the billionaire left.

Dick tugged his legs closer, hiding his face against his knees. At this moment the easy chair was too large. He wanted to be swallowed whole. He wanted the feelings of guilt, evil, sickness, pain, and horrific, gut-wrenching fear, to disperse. To fade away into nothing and take him away to someplace else. At this point he felt physical pain across his entire body, inside and out, and wondered how much was real and how much was imagined.

'Mostly imagined,' he continued to swear to himself, as he had the last few days. 'It's mostly imagined.' He was imagining most of it, he had to be. The only physical (really, obviously physical) evidence were the finger print bruises scattered across his body. And one obvious gash from a fingernail.

Forget the scary evidence he refused to acknowledge and had washed (scoured) away.

Can't go over it. Can't go under it…

"Ok," he whispered to himself. "We're ok."

Sad thing was, the worst hurt was from his right thumb. He didn't know why, because the bruise was so slight – but it were as if all his pain decided to gang up on the offending mark. Dick continued to hold the digit to his lips, comforting it with his own physical closeness. All his love directed there, to press a kiss and breathe in the discolored skin. And while it didn't make any sense, it was extremely important.

Can't go over it, can't go under it…

"You ok?" Fourteen-year-old Jason Todd was taking a seat on the footstool located before the elder. His face held confusion and concern. Neither of which Bruce had bothered to display. "Dick?"

How fortunate he'd taken the two days prior to recuperate before coming home, otherwise he was sure he'd have broken down by meeting Jason's worried gaze. Except he wouldn't have. He was past accepting feelings. "M'fine." Dick insisted. His whole skull was numb, a slight buzz going. A buzz that stopped his all-consuming flow of thoughts. Continuous, protecting yet preventing. He was currently clean, no drugs in his system, but the dissociation was almost as good as a high. "I gotta get back to my place, sorry again about skipping out. I'm really sorry, Jays."

His jaw hurt, there hadn't been a large array of bruises. At least not that he'd seen. He'd glanced in the mirror to be sure, finding only two, but had trouble lingering on his reflection to check for others. His face had been shoved into the mattress, hands had occasionally pushed against his jaw.

It felt like bone and teeth had moved the wrong way from the assault, but Dick was simply grateful at the lack of bruises. After all, this was his fault.

Drugs? Again? Seriously? He'd snorted a line without asking questions regarding the cut, smoked a joint without double checking. He'd taken a drink without consideration. Assumptions were made by idiots, and he'd been an idiot. Drinks could be spiked and drugs could be laced. Though, he already knew it was mostly the joint.

Probably?

Maybe?

That was the problem. He was fairly paranoid and had to remind himself that was due to both the drugs and the rape.

Dick had returned to his loft and face planted into bed. He flipped his tv and fan on before accessing his tablet and phone to accompany the noise. It was quite a surprise he even heard the knocks at the door. He was careful as he drew himself up and approached the noise. "Whose there?"

"Well, not Bruce, but sent by Jason…"

Babs.

Dick swung the door open and allowed her entrance.

"Apparently you managed to worry the little bird. Por que?" Barbara surveyed the room, as if specifically looking for something wrong. She had her hands tucked into her front pockets and continued to shift her weight, looking around as Dick closed the door.

"No drugs, Babs. As to your 'por que'- who knows why Jays does or says anything?"

"Calling him 'Jays' indicates you both have a relationship. Damn those nicknames." She gave a wink. "This might lead me to believe he might know what he's talking about when he says he's worried about you."

Dick glared. "He's a good kid, you know, usually … But that doesn't make him right."

Barbara removed her hands from the pockets and held them up. She signaled defeat. "Dick, ok. Ok. Ok? I'm not judging, I'm asking. Are you ok?"

"Might be if you stop with the 'oks'."

Barbara simply smiled, her perfect face lighting up the room. "You just got back to being Nightwing again. Two days later you fall off the map?" She hesitated before continuing. "I'm not here to judge, I'm here to be here. Do you need help? If so, how so?"

Dick felt himself mentally draw away, but the invitation was so inviting. "I don't want to talk, ok? I don't want to talk … But can you, I dunno, maybe stay?"

The answer was so light and so easy. "Of course I will."

She borrowed a pair of boxers and a tee and they both crawled into the bed. There was no skin on skin, just the necessary familiar presence. Nothing was said about the overwhelming noise from the electronics. Instead Barbara took his hand and held it as she drifted to sleep.

Dick clutched that hand like a lifeline. He doubted sleep was possible.

Can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it…

When all else fails, just pretend you got through. He turned towards Barbara and released a slow stream of air, pulling her hand closer and focused on family.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: Includes cutting triggers. 

Barbara Gordon awoke with a start. She blinked heavily, hid her face back into the pillow, and remembered where she was. Only Grayson would have memory foam pillows. There was also the filter of noise coming from his fan, tv, tablet and God knew what else. (A newly acquired bad habit she meant to get to the bottom of). Drawing herself up she pulled away the covers, tossing them onto the slumbering Richard Grayson.

1\. Bathroom.

2\. Drink of water.

She tiptoed around to take care of things before confronting the fridge. She found only a package of cheese and a carton of orange juice. Heaving a sigh she drew the O.J. out and drank her fill. Complacent she returned to the bed and was somewhat surprised to see Dick awake and aware. "Hi'ya, sweet pea," she greeted.

"Hi."

Barbara snuggled back under the covers, purposefully kicking her cold feet against his shins.

"Stop, Babs." He muttered, shaking her away.

"Billionaire's kid should have heated floors, alls I'm saying."

A grunt and nothing more as he turned away.

"Billionaire's kid should have actual food in his fridge."

Dick snorted. "Alls you're saying?"

"Alls I'm saying," she chirped.

"I'll get food tomorrow."

Smiling, she turned and checked the time on her phone. 3:45 AM. "You wanna talk or sleep?" In all honesty she was awake, her necessary time allotment for sleep was about five hours. Should she try and rest more? Yeah, but … She wasn't wired that way. None of the Bats were. Though Bruce was getting older, he'd probably be needing more sleep sooner rather than later.

"Neither. Sleep or whatever. You left. I woke up and you were gone."

She relied on her intuition/obvious facts. Dick was a talker but tonight didn't want to talk. Dick almost always thought about sex, yet tonight he needed her like 'The Lost Boys' needed Wendy. (She preferred it that way). There were also the obvious bruises littering his body, but they were faint enough that they had to equal slight pressure. He hadn't been hit. Perhaps restrained? She'd have assumed self induced, but that couldn't explain the few marks littering his face.

He'd been hazy all night long, partially aware. Probably drugs. Jason had said he'd either drank or used. "Were you robbed or something? Too out of it to stop the guys?"

Dick's breathing hitched and his eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah, sure … but I don't want to talk about it."

"No, it's more than that…"

The Romani sat up, shoving her away before getting to his feet. "Stop with the detective work, ok?" He offered a fake laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. "If I wanted to be analyzed I'd have stayed at the manor."

"Sorry. Ok, ok, ok…"

"And stop with the 'oks'!" Dick took in a deep breath but that wasn't enough. He knew what was happening as it happened. This was a panic attack. He struggled to breathe, yet held out a hand to show Barbara it was ok. He focused, zoned. His frenzy breathing continued.

In through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

He could do this.

Barbara patiently waited. She knew he knew how to get through this. They'd all been trained to deal with panic.

Finally his breathing normalized and Dick gave his head a shake. "Sorry that took so long."

"…Is it ok to ask questions?"

"I'd rather you not. And no need to tattle to Batman."

She ignored the slight and sat up, easily pulling her legs Indian style. "You're safe. You're always safe with me." A pause. The fact that he'd referred to his mentor as Batman rather than Bruce (in this situation) signaled the two must have fought.

"I know I'm safe!" Oh boy, he was mad.

"I'll give you a few days, but I'm going to ask what happened eventually. I won't stop till I find out you're ok. But for now let's both just be, ok?"

"You're a shit, you know that?! A fucking shit!" Dick lashed out. His anger unbearable and abusive. "This isn't a crime to solve! This is me telling you to stay outta my personal life!"

Clearing her throat Barbara shifted and got to her feet. She grabbed her jeans, keys, jacket and t-shirt and went to the bathroom, Dick trailing behind. She shut him out and locked the door.

"You always have to invade and intervene!" Dick thumped a fist against the door so hard it vibrated in the walls. "I want you out, ok? Ok, ok? Enough 'oks' for you?! Out. And leave my fucking key." He stomped back to the bedroom, slammed the door and listened as the girl did as instructed. He trembled, a mixture of regret and anger and a whole lot of other emotions he didn't want to read into.

Instead he crawled back into bed and covered his head with his arms and tucked his knees to his chest. 'You're a bad person.' He told himself.

 

It was late afternoon before Bruce showed up. He didn't even bother to knock. Dick wondered how he'd gotten a key. Sometimes having the Batman as your 'dad' sucked. "Do you need rehab?"

Dick rolled his eyes as anger mounted, yet again. Since before Barbara had left sores had been opening in his mouth. He counted about ten, but in all honesty had no idea how many were littered across his gums and on his tongue. Enough that it hurt to talk and eat, he knew that much. He attempted anyway. "Babs sent you?"

Bruce's glare hardened at the strange slur Dick produced with his words. "Are you drunk right now?!"

"No." Just mouth sores. "I know you guys love to assume I'm always fucked up, but no, I'm not drunk."

"You're talking odd, but pupils seem normal." Bruce caught Dick's chin. "Open."

Dick stuck out his tongue in a fit of rebelliousness and pulled away.

"Minor aphthae. Stress induced?" Bruce declared at the various sores. "Gums as well?"

"I know how to deal with stress, ok?! I'll meditate and guzzle some 'Magic Mouthwash'. We'll all forget and go back to normal."

"Normal." Bruce repeated the word, as if discovering it for the first time. "Why are you so stressed?"

And here he'd been thinking the mouth sores were a pain.

"You were hostile to a friend." Bruce said upon realization that the eighteen year old wasn't going to talk. "Yes, Barbara told me."

"Of course she did. Her need to be perfect easily allows her to find fault in everyone else. You know, she's so busy finding fault in everyone that-."

"Dick." The interruption was lined with annoyance. "You're deflecting."

Jesus Christ! Dick ran the tip of his tongue against his partially fake tooth. It'd been shattered when he was eleven, and while half remained it's normal self, the other half had been cheaply crafted. Bruce had offered to pay for better, but Dick had refused. Since then he'd shattered another and the sculpting was so perfect Dick couldn't even remember where it was. It was so seamless that he'd almost asked to replace the other, but in the end had refused. The foreign tooth hurt his tongue if he rubbed them together, and helped to focus his attention. "Can we be done?"

"Barbara is right. Something is off."

That was too much to handle. Dick clutched his fists and held back a scream. All he wanted was support from his family. He didn't want the poking and prying. He didn't want them to know.

He couldn't have them know.

If they knew the truth … Oh, God, if the they knew.

'Bad person, bad person. Shut up. Bad person. Can't go over, can't under, bad people - shut up!' The panic was rising. Dick reverted it to anger. "Get out!" He shrieked, so unexpected. "Get out or I'll call the fucking cops!"

Bruce wasn't moved physically, but something moved behind his eyes. "Just like that? Your mood alters just like that?"

"I don't give a damn how my mood alters, I want you out! OUT!"

Bruce observed momentarily, noticing Dick's increasing hitches as he breathed. "You're going into panic."

"Out! Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out!" Dick didn't know where this was coming from, he picked up the nearest object, a glass cup, and hurled it at his guardian. "Out! Out! Get the fuck out!"

It was damn near heart breaking when Bruce actually left, slamming the door behind him.

Dick tried to control his breathing. How much information had he given away? What if Bruce and Barbara suspected? Even an inkling, if they knew it'd be too much… the panic rose and Dick dug his fingers into his hair and pulled hard. He stumbled forward, thinking of the many cases Bruce had taught him.

Self harm was a form of cope, and right now, Dick needed to cope without family or friends. He pulled out a cheap razor and unearthed a hammer, needle nose and regular screw driver from his tool box. He set to work extracting the razor blade, aware of the noisy thumps created by his hammer. When he finally got to the thin blade he retreated to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of his unmade bed.

No.

No, no, no…

(Eyes closed, quick, hard pressure applied, and slice)

Fuck! That kinda hurt … Dick clamped a hand across his shoulder, waiting a few seconds for the blood to come. Somewhere in those seconds his eyes flickered up and pain forced his brain to zone. He was no longer thinking of the bad, just the pain, and that was just so perfect. It was so much easier. When the blood came it was thick and heavy.

Hot liquid rose up underneath his palm and between his fingers. Dick felt the warm liquid begin to drip down his arm, and it felt good.

Why did it feel so good?

It wasn't till he realized that the blood wasn't stopping, but rather creating a puddle on his blankets and sheets, that he released the hand and looked to assess the damage.

Tried to look rather, he had to confine his embarrassment and shame (because, yeah, he'd fucking cut himself). The blood was making it hard to tell, but a careful swipe reviled a near half-inch gash, blood beginning to leak to cover the displayed white below. Dick realized his choices were stitches or…

Getting up, tightly holding the cut, he retreated to the bathroom. He rustled in the cabinets and found a wrap, bandages, and then warmed a washcloth with water. He wiped the cut and saw that it was pointless, blood seemed all the more eager to flow with water. Ignoring it, he forced two large bandages over. He quickly wrapped the offending, blood stained mark, tight as necessary and waited. He watched, somewhat exhilarated, as blood continued to seep.

It's steady stream was slowly leaking though, but he'd be fine with more applied pressure. He tightened the wrap around his arm.

Scar? Yeah, probably, but he was Nightwing. He could easily explain that away.

There were heavy droplets of blood littering the sink and the floor, so, accompanied with a heavy sigh, he set to the task of cleaning.

TWO DAYS LATER:

Bruce and Jason had just finished patrol, it was 3:15 AM and he'd sent the youth to shower. A sound to his left focused his attention. It wasn't the noise that surprised him, it was the weight of the sound. He recognized the foot falls and glanced over to confirm it was Dick approaching him. Something was off, Dick held a hand clapped over his mouth tightly, as if trying to hide the lower portion of his face.

Was the kid drunk?

No.

High?

Didn't appear to be.

"What's wrong?" Forever the guardian, he was concerned, but part of him refused to be nice to the eighteen year old. Dick had been obscenely rude to Barbara Gordon and himself. An explanation would be required.

Dick pulled his hand away ever so slightly, but still held it to make it so it was impossible to see whatever he was hiding. "Swollen."

Bruce got to his feet and approached, only to have Dick dance away. He felt anger begin to lash it's head. Anger and confusion. He had a feeling this had to do with the mouth sores. As a kid, Dick had dealt with high stress levels and the inside of his mouth was one of the more obvious signs his brain was trying to cope but couldn't. "Are you here for something? If you want treated then let me see."

"…Want Alfred."

"Show me, Dick."

"No quiero." Dick actually whined. "Come on, no quiero!"

"Too bad."

There was some trepidation, but the hand finally lowered.

Bruce snagged the penlight from his utility belt and approached, noticing how the teenager became rigid. He focused on the obviously swelling of the cheeks and quietly instructed. "Open." Dick did as instructed and upon examination of the gums and tongue Bruce easily assessed. "I see."

Dick once again covered his mouth and took two steps back that didn't go unnoticed.

Ever the teacher Bruce tilted his head. "Do you remember what kind of medication would you suggest to someone in your position? Swollen gums, mouth sores…"

"Eww!" A high pitched voice filtered in as Jason Todd approached. "He's got herpes!"

"Not herpes." Dick seethed, though his words were hard to decipher. His face was slightly red as he turned towards Bruce, answering the question. "Steroids."

"Indeed." Bruce confirmed as he turned away, heading to the med bay.

Jason continued to tease his older brother. "Herpes, herpes!"

"I think you are herpes, you shit." Dick spat. "You're friggin' Montezuma's Revenge!"

"Didn't he curse people and give them herpes?"

"You're such a little, uneducated shit! You know that?"

Bruce ignored the pair and found a bottle of Decadron. "Jason, Decadron, do you know what this is?"

Rolling his eyes, the fourteen-year-old glanced towards his mentor. "First off, I heard Dick say he needed steroids, so yeah, they're steroids most likely." He snorted, looking back to Dick who still was attempting to hide his face yet again. "Hate medical shit."

"Language," was all the billionaire said as he returned, handing two pills to Dick. "You know the drill."

"One now, one within 12 hours." Dick took the pill dry, showing his swollen cheeks momentarily.

"Herpes," Jason whispered, a huge smile in play. It was all in good fun.

Dick lunged for him.

As the two began their brotherly fisticuffs, Bruce decided to withhold his interrogation of Dick. Something had happened, he knew that much between his and Barbara's matching stories. Whatever it was, Dick didn't want to share, and while normally Bruce could have pushed the overly stressed young adult to the sidelines, this time was different.

Dick had relapsed. Dick had relapsed and something had happened.

Bruce couldn't stop himself from needing to know.

FIFTY MINUTES LATER:

Jason was aware of the moon and stars above. He was aware of the slick grass underfoot. He was also aware that Dick could run circles around him. "No fuckin' fair!" He panted, slowing his trot. They had both decided to jog towards the cliffs behind Wayne Manor, as to see the ocean with the stars backdropped against it. It was near hell trying to keep pace with the eighteen-year-old.

Dick slowed and returned to the youth. His gums still were swollen, by the way he spoke. "What, done?"

"No! We're almost there, let's just walk."

So they did.

Jason loved spending time with Dick, even if the guy was a push over and a HUGE baby. His new family was more, more then he'd ever thought possible. His older 'brother' more-so than the others. A mix of cool and weird, and all around fun.

"Barefoot it? Since we're walking?"

Jason smiled and slipped his socks and shoes off, carrying them as the two toed the grass naturally.

Nothing seemed off, not until they'd returned home and Dick followed him upstairs. He turned on the gaming console, took a seat, and began to play, ignoring Jays as the fourteen-year-old showered and brushed his teeth. Dick and he used to fight about which was better, tooth brushing in in the shower (Dick) vs. the sink (Jason). This early Saturday morning Dick said nothing. Rinsing with fluoride, Jason spat and returned to his bedroom.

Dick took no notice, rather continued to play. Not a glance, not a word, total focus … for Dick, that was weird.

"You ok?" Jason tried as he snagged his tablet before pulling his covers back and slipping between the sheets. He was tired. "Dick-Head?"

A swish of dark hair as the elder turned around to his disagreeable nickname. "Hate that name." He unplugged the controller and crawled to rest against the pillows beside Jason. He resumed the game, not sparing a glance. "You mind if I hang around for a few?"

"No…" Jason started his tablet and scrolled to find a decent audiobook. Within twenty minutes he was fast asleep, Dick still focused on the television screen before him.

Dick ended up playing till the sun came up, Jason breathing steadily beside him. The eighteen-year-old felt his eyes sagging, so he shut down the console and put the controller on the nightstand to his left. He had to admit, he felt safe. Home was safe. Home was also quiet. He snaked a hand out, moving Jason's arm and removing the currently paused tablet.

Jays had been listening to 'White Fang,' the nerd. Dick giggled at the discovery and searched for some reasonable music.

"Go home, Dick!" Jason harshly whispered at the shuffling.

"Go to sleep."

A grunt from Jason, "you need to shower," but otherwise instructions were followed, and Dick soon took his own advice.

/He was slugging through a swamp of dead bodies. Laughter polluted the air behind him, laughter and high fives. They were getting closer and Dick couldn't move.

Laughter.

High fives.

A whispered, "I'm sorry."

Dick tried to escape, but the sludge was thick and he realized he'd have to eat his way out. He bent down to take a bite…/

A hand brushed against his cheek.

(Wake up fast)

Dick allowed his eyes to open, and as he moved he felt fingers quickly encircled his wrist. He went for a kick as words to his right were uttered.

"Dick. Stop."

The voice was enough to halt his motions. (Safe). He lowered his body to relax, eagerly collapsing into the bed. It was then he realized just how hard he was breathing.

Bruce spoke: "You're safe. Focus."

Dick focused and realized how stupid he seemed. "This is a person," he breathed out, unsure why he'd spoken the words.

"Yes, you're a person, it was a nightmare."

Dick jerked his head to the right, searching for Jays.

"Jason has been downstairs for the past hour…"

Dick returned his gaze to Bruce, searching the familiar face, panic still high.

"Dick, you and I need to talk." There was some kind of accusation behind Bruce's tone, but it was intertwined something thicker – something more important. He lifted a hand and reached across Dick's chest, going to the young man's right shoulder.

Dick displayed momentary confusion until he remembered the self-inflicted cut. He tried to sit up, pushing away his mentors hand and that's when he saw the blood stained sheets. Suddenly speech was a struggle.

"Do you remember hitting Jason?" Bruce interceded.

The inability to talk rose by multiple degrees.

"He woke up and saw the blood. He woke you up and you let him look. He said you needed stitches and you slapped him. You slapped him right across the face, Dick."

"No – im-impossible." It had to be impossible, right? Dick covered his ears and tried to focus. Flickers rushed past. Jason had woken him, but that's all he could recall, and even then … He wasn't sure that had been real or a dream. "Is he ok?"

"He's angry, but quite reasonable." Bruce was shockingly patient, though there was an anger hidden there. Static like. "He said he thought you were 'sleep walking'. He swears you couldn't be high, but I'm wondering if you took something. So here are the options…" He cleared his throat and shook his head. "You explain the cut and why it triggered a violent reaction, you let me do some blood work, and then you tell me everything that's going on."

"…Those aren't options." Dick muttered, his heart pounding. "You're telling me how is."

"If you want to be welcome around Jason, Alfred and Barbara again, then correct – that's how it is." Bruce cleared his throat yet again. He wasn't allowing himself to feel any pity regarding the situation. No, he was going to get to the bottom of it, because if Dick was becoming violent it was his job to protect the others.

"I don't hit kids, Bruce, I don't. I would never ever, ever!"

"I know you don't. I know you wouldn't. But you did, and I'm not going to discuss this. Accept the terms or you need to leave."

Dick pulled in deep breaths, trying to make sense of the situation. He glanced to meet Bruce's eyes and felt the panic rise, so in response he buried his face behind his arms.

"Ok. Fine. I'll escort you out." Bruce Wayne was true to his word.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

WARNING: Jason Todd gets mad. A tad more swearing and what not.

Dick was slumped beside the toilet. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there.

Despair. Some self pity.

His body was numb. He had a buzz in his head and a churning his stomach. No tears. Never tears. They weren't purposeful anyway. Occasionally he'd feel himself choke on fear as it bubbled up so strong he couldn't even move. The only feeling worse than the despair and fear was the guilt.

It was confusing.

He tried to dissociate, he knew how, and even if he hadn't his body occasionally slipped into that timeless, buzzing arena where feelings didn't exist. 'You're supposed to be happy. I want to be happy.'

Dick tried to straighten his fingers and found he couldn't muster the energy.

'You know how to make things better, and it's only a text away.'

So, the text was sent and in little over an hour there was a knock at his door. Dick exchanged the hundred for the fifth of vodka, some joints and the baggie of Oxy. He ignored the "you look like shit," comment and tagged his hand against his old dealers before closing the door and retreating back inside.

He grabbed a hardback book to use as a cutting board, pulled out his drivers license and dug in the kitchen for a spoon. Dick had a momentary freak out upon realizing there was no straw available.

Fuck.

Booze weren't his first choice, but at this point he'd take them.

Twenty minutes later, accompanied by straight vodka with a cold can of soup to wash it down, Dick had mustered up the strength to made his own straw. He took it up the nose and fell into bed, happy with the Internet and streaming for the moment.

Memories eased into a faze; they were there, but unable to touch him unless accessed.

Dick passed out within two hours and 13 minutes. Relaxed, and for once able to sleep. Healthy or not, here he was.

 

Jason Todd was wandering the halls of his school. It was a private academy, and he hated it. Though Bruce had promised that once Jason was caught up to his grade level and maintained decorum, he could transfer. At first Jason had thought the task impossible, but after a few weeks discovered he wasn't as stupid as his parents had always claimed. He actually liked reading, and with a little extra work the other subjects weren't so bad either.

It was the decorum and staying out of fights that were hard. But, so far so good.

Until today.

He had left class on the pretense of needing the bathroom, but honestly he just wanted to stretch his legs. So, wandering the halls, he ran into two upperclassman.

Adrian Pierre was Jason's age, about the same size, but a year ahead. He and Jason knew of each other but never spoke. His friend was bigger, Samuel Salzburg.

"Hey Todd, how's it hanging?"

Jason gave a shrug, slowing down, suspicious.

"Heard that rumors were confirmed. Your new family does take it up the ass."

A cold fury whipped in Jason. "Is this supposed to be bullying?" He was surprised. Most everyone at the school had been aware of his past and seemed to accept him instantly as the Crime Alley badass. It had gained him respect, fame, and even friends. People didn't bully him.

"Nah, just passing it along."

"Your wet dreams might seem vivid, but that don't make them real."

Adrian's face went bright red. "That kid that Wayne took in before you? Yeah, heard he went to a party high as a fucking kite and got it on with, like, eight guys."

Jason stared. He was perfectly aware that Dick was into girls. Could be he was bi? Jason decided he didn't care, this was a bad rumor at best and he needed to squash it. "You ever open that fat fucking liar mouth again and you'll find it shut so hard your teeth break."

"I'm just warning you, Todd, don't wanna wake up with something poking you-"

Jason had his shoe off before more could be said. He hurled it at Adrian's face and ran, barreling into Samuel's gut. He heard a crack and a shout as the shoe hit its mark. Samuel was starting to say something, but upon impact from Jason the air left him in a whoosh. He went falling backwards. Jason caught his balance only to kick Salzburg in the side of the head.

He didn't have time to check the damage, rather he spun towards Adrian. The boy was clutching his forehead and cursing. Jason launched himself and brought them both crashing to the floor. He sat on the upperclassmans chest and dragged the boys hands so that they were being crushed under Jason's knees.

"You done it now, and right after I fucking warned you! You just signed up to be my personal bitch for the rest of the year, you sorry fuck!" Jason pulled his arm back, ready to strike. He could hear classroom doors opening and knew he had to act fast.

"You just ensured this rumor is spread, you fairy twink!"

"I promised you broken teeth, but we'll settle for a busted nose." Jason brought the heel of his hand into Adrian's face and smiled at the responding crunch and scream.

 

When Dick was a kid, he was so freaking happy. Bruce always felt the best thing he had done was take in the traumatized, dejected child and watch happiness reroot and grow. Mornings, as he'd get ready for work, Dick would suddenly appear, colorful pajamas and hair sticking up left and right. He'd launch into the unmade bed, giggling for no reason.

No reason what so ever.

Bruce would be brushing his teeth, occasionally observing Dick's reflection through the mirror. The kid would continuously move, kicking the sheets and blankets, and chattering up a storm. He'd toss up pillows and just – he'd just giggle.

How was it humanly possible to be that happy?

For Bruce, at the time, it had been strange and hard to understand, but days like this he made the memory a focal point. Dick was worth saving.

Dick would always be worth saving.

He had given Dick a day too cool off before making the drive to the teenagers apartment. He was fortunate enough to find a parking space nearby, so the trek wasn't too long. He climbed the outdoor stairs and rapped his knuckles against the door. He had spotted Dick's car, so he felt sure the Romani would be home. It was too early for Nightwing duty, unless he was working a case Bruce was unaware of.

He waited a few seconds before knocking again, and when that went unanswered he pulled out his keys. He'd made a copy from the key Dick had given Barbara and felt no shame in that. With a twist and a click he gained admittance.

Bruce entered, softly shutting the door behind him and surveyed the one bedroom unit. It was a bit messy, but nothing too bad. "Dick?" He stepped over the Vans skater shoes lying by the front door as he looked around. "Richard?"

There was no reply, but the bedroom door was open and the sound of music trickled into the air.

The billionaire made his way past the messy kitchen and into the bedroom. He found the eighteen-year-old sprawled across the bed. The television was on, hooked up to Dick's phone. There were a few messages against the backdrop of whirling colors that danced with the musical tempo. Bruce ignored them and focused on the person sound asleep.

Dick had apparently passed out with a can of soup. The foodstuffs had been knocked over and created a thick puddle of chicken noodle sludge.

Bruce told himself to ignore it and searched the vicinity. He found a cup half full of clear liquid and upon a quick taste Bruce confirmed it to be vodka. There was also a book covered in white powder, a spoon, some paper rolled and taped as a makeshift straw as well as Dick's recently reinstated drivers license. He picked up the card and felt anger spike.

Dick had been doing well. He'd gotten his life back together. He'd attended the mandatory classes and been tested for six months, all to earn back the right to drive. So to use this newly acquired drivers license to make lines of powder was just … stupid.

"Dick!" Bruce gave the figure a shake before forcible rolling Dick onto his back. "Hey!"

"Mhm?" Dick's eyes played at opening. "Ugh, what?"

"20 grand upon turning eighteen, 20 grand aside from your currently frozen trust fund. 300 grand towards residence, if found and proven acceptable." Bruce Wayne was never one to waste words.

Blue eyes came into view as Dick listened, his face displayed confusion and a hangover. He didn't move to sit up. "Huh?"

"You were given that money because I thought it would go towards your future, not your need to self destruct. I can see I was wrong."

Dick slowly pulled himself into the sitting position with a groan. No doubt his head and neck were in agony from his little narcotic vacation. "Why are you here? You shouldn't have a key."

"Yes I should."

Another groan and Dick squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in his hands. "Fuck me, I-…" He suddenly dropped his hands and franticly looked towards his nightstand.

"I already saw your crushed pills and vodka."

Dick's cheeks colored and he ducked his head. "You broke into my house. You had no right."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me!" The teenager got to his feet and began to clean up the powder and equipment. "I never gave you a key. You need to get the hell out."

Bruce followed the young man into the kitchen where Dick stood before the overflowing sink. He stared as if he hadn't expected it to be full. Finally, with a shrug, he flipped the water on and washed the powder away from the book jacket. No doubt he had more pills and this was just a display for Bruce's benefit.

"I'd like to talk to you." Bruce said

"I thought you didn't want me coming around anymore."

"I don't. Not until we figure out what's going on. My not wanting you near the others is just a protective measure. Not just for them, but for you too."

Dick hit the faucet, stopping the water flow. He turned around as he wiped his hands against the seat of his jeans. "That right?"

"Yes. I doubt you'd thank me if I let you hurt others."

"So, what then? I'm only allowed to talk to you?"

Bruce remained quiet.

"Lucky me. You're such a great conversationalist that I'll never miss the others." Dick rolled his eyes before becoming a bit more serious. "Well, you haven't yelled at me about the drugs yet, which is weird, so what is that you want?"

Bruce shrugged off his jacket and turned towards the couch. He took a seat and motioned for Dick to accompany him. "Come here, please."

There was blatant hesitation before Dick walked over. He sat on the opposite end, perched on the arm of the couch.

"You're an adult now. You get to make choices and you get to deal with the consequences."

Dick made an exasperated noise as he lazily looked away.

"I don't like your choices, but … but that's mainly because I don't understand them. I'd like you to try and tell me why you feel that these are the best options available to you." There, he'd done it. Bruce wished Alfred had been around. The butler would be proud. The two had planned what Bruce would say the night before. The billionaire felt like he'd done a pretty good job. "Dick?"

There was no second guessing the apparent surprise in Dick's face. The kid hadn't expected his guardian to EVER say something like that. "Uh… I dunno."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know."

"Well, try."

Dick tossed his head, flipping all his hair to hang to the left. It loosely covered his eyes, offering a hideout of sorts. "This is weird."

"Well, may I inquire about your cut?" Bruce jerked his head towards Dick's shoulder. "Did you stitch it?"

A hand instantly rose to cover the right shoulder and Dick flushed.

"May I see?" Bruce stood and approached. He was aware that Dick went stiff as soon as his fingers brushed the teens skin to roll the T-shirt sleeve up. Bruce unwound the tape and carefully pulled away the cotton that was soaked-through red and fused to the skin by dried blood. Once removed fresh blood rose to the surface of the gash, but not enough to cause alarm.

It was deep, Dick had cut through skin and into what little fat he had. Thus the whiteness between the blood. Yes, stitches would be best for a quicker heal and less scarring. There was some infection starting, nothing unusual or worrying, but it needed to be washed out as a preventative measure. "Why haven't you treated this?"

Dick just looked away.

"Why are you cutting yourself?" Bruce tried instead.

"I'm not-."

"Yes you are. So, why? Why are you cutting yourself? Drinking, drugs, self harm … there are better coping skills, Dick. I know you know that. Come on, let's clean this up."

Dick jerked free and shook his head. "It's fine, ok? Why are you being so weird?" It was a fair question, Bruce was being very weird. The billionaire usually didn't waste time being understanding. When it came to parenting he was more of a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of guy.

It was then that Bruce cell began to ring. The billionaire pulled it out and frowned. "Just a moment." He turned away, had a short conversation and then hung up. "I have to go, we'll talk later."

Dick felt relief as his guardian finally left.

 

"Why, Jason?! Why did you do it?" Bruce had come home upon the call from Alfred. The butler had told him that the fourteen year old beat up two other kids, going as far as even breaking a nose. He also said that Jason had made threats to the two boys, but as for the reason … No one seemed to know. The two victims swore they had just said 'hello'. If that was true or not, who knew, because Jason wasn't saying anything. "I don't care if you have some code, you tell me now."

"I know what happens when I tell you things, Bruce. You go and make me a snitch. Well, those two kids were begging for I, so I delivered."

"A snitch? What are you talking about?"

"With Dick! I shoulda never said nothing about him hitting me. You told him I flaked, that I snitched!"

Bruce paused. Oh. Figure a kid from the Alley to be more worried about that then anything else. "We can discuss that later. Why did you break your classmates nose?"

"Between me and him."

"That's just great, just great. Between you and Dick it's a shock CPS haven't beaten down my door." Bruce shook his head.

Jason doubted anyone had much to worry about. Compared to all the parents he'd ever known, Bruce was a five star resort. "Why are you so worried about Dick? He's like, the poster boy for the white, rich, teenage snob. I mean, pot? Alcohol? Scripts? Can he be any more mainstream?"

Bruce stared, speechless.

"I've done harder shit than that push over. You ever see a rich kid slummin' and you just assume it's for scripts. Cut him a break. If anything be glad he's not stealing that shit from his friends parents. He's paying for it."

The billionaire covered his face momentarily. "Goddamn, kid."

"What?!"

Bruce decided not to get into what normal should be. That was a discussion for another time. "Is it a norm for young people like Dick to hit someone offering only help?"

Jason narrowed his eyes but shrugged. "No, but he didn't do that cause he was messed up or high. You knew it then and you know it now. You've been around enough tweekers and junkies to recognize what that looks like. He'd have to be off his ass doped-up and he wasn't. No, he was sleep walking or something. I told you then and I'm telling you now."

Something terrible flickered in the back of Bruce's mind. Jason had a point. Dick was a functional alcoholic, that much he knew. But he'd always been able to tell when the kid was drunk. Functioning or not. "We're discussing you right now."

"…I kicked their asses cause I wanted to."

Bruce knew it was a lie, but he was done going in circles. If Jason wanted all the blame, fine. "You're grounded. Stay in your room unless told otherwise ... and mind your language or else."

"Is Dick gay?" The teenager blurted out the words and then looked like he regretted speaking. "Or, you know, bi?"

"What?"

"I'm just asking."

Bruce studied Jason's face for a moment and then shook his head. "I've had Dick since he was eight. That kid only thinks about girls most of the time. So, no, I don't think so." He paused thoughtfully. "But if he were, I'd be ok with it ... Why?"

Jason simply shook his head.

Bruce realized this would probably be the time to press the matter of sexual orientation further, but he'd leave that to Alfred. There were some aspects of parenting he just didn't want to handle. So, he left, closing the door behind him and felt flooded with the need to hit something. It was early still, but he decided to suit up. Anything to get away from this house and the responsibilities surrounding it.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Control yourself; take only what you need from it.” MGMT


	4. Chapter 4

"He needs rehab, that's what. I've got one kid who needs professional help and another who thinks being a snitch is worse than physically assaulting someone. Not to mention Jason admitted to doing hard drugs before." Bruce was venting. He'd sought Alfred out and now both were in the cave. "What did his school say again?"

Alfred glanced over at his bottle of cleaner that he'd set down at the computer. "I'm to accompany him to a meeting at the end of the week where he'll be expected to apologize to the boys he fought. Until he does, he's suspended."

"Apologizing isn't exactly something Jason does well."

The butler agreed with that. "Fortunately Master Jason enjoys being a vigilante, so I strongly believe a compromise can be made."

Bruce grunted. "And Dick? He was clean for months and just reverted like it was nothing. Yes, I understand that's what addicts do, they're never fully healed, but I thought he was stronger than that. And now the whole cutting ordeal, what the hell? Oh, and Jason told me I shouldn't worry, that Dick was a normal rich kid. So now we'll have to watch out for Jason doing harder drugs, because apparently that's possibility."

"I think Master Jason grew up surrounded by drug addicts, his own parents included … I doubt we have to worry. If anyone in this household is anti-drug use, it'd be him."

"Hn."

Deciding to take control of the conversation, Alfred offered his advice. "If Master Richard wants to cut he's going to cut. You can't stop him. It's like we discussed before, he needs to talk. He needs to realize himself that what he's doing is harmful. The most we can do is ask him to use clean blades and tell us if he accidentally cuts too deep."

Bruce hated that plan. "He's already cutting too deep. I got a look at the damage. He needs stitches, but he's refusing. He's just wrapping it tight and letting it clot."

"Which works too. It will just be a more prominent scar."

"Why not stitch it?"

"As you mentioned earlier, he's in need of professional help. The lad isn't thinking straight."

Bruce felt anger peak and he took a moment to force it back down. "It just seems that Leslie doesn't know what she's talking about. I thought it was our job to protect the little idiot, not watch him carve himself up. 'Hey, Dick. I see you cut yourself again, make sure to use clean blades?' We might as well supply the razors!" The billionaire shook his head and swatted a hand, signaling he was done. "Forget it. I'm going out for patrol."

"Have you informed Master Richard of his newly reinstated suspension?"

Bruce paused and shook his head. "I'll do that tonight."

 

Dick was relaxing outside his apartment, sitting on the stairs and texting Jason. It was still warm for late September, and Dick took advantage of the weather. Soon enough it'd be dark skies, snow and rain. Everything would turn cold and he'd miss nights like this.

Jason had apparently been in a fight at school, but refused to say more. Dick was slightly surprised, but given his little brothers temper he probably shouldn't be. There was a flicker as the screen suddenly changed and displayed Bruce calling. Dick hit ignore the first time, but when the call came again, moments later, he forced himself to answer. "Hi."

"We had a meeting and the group decided you're unfit for work until further notice. I trust you'll be compliant."

Dick had been expecting this. "Whatever." He hung up and pulled his messages back up. He wondered if his answer had been enough to appease his guardian. He really didn't want Bruce showing up unexpected again. Dick had changed the locks, but how much privacy did that allow him? Bruce would get in if he wanted. The hope was that the obvious hint (new locks) would keep the control freak at bay.

A new message popped up and Dick chuckled. It was a picture of the manor kitchen. Apparently Jason had managed to sneak out of his room. Thumbs moved quickly as Dick sent his reply.

THE NEXT DAY:

Tabloids were a pain in the ass. Bruce hated them. So when he was sent a link to the newest rumor he found himself as annoyed and disgusted as always. It was about Dick, claiming he had a drug problem and was spending his days and nights hooking up with anything and everything. Naturally Bruce's name littered the paper, and while it wasn't as foul as it could be, it was still fairly bad. It blamed his playboy lifestyle and lack of a parental role model.

Jason had come down for breakfast and shied away from the figure already seated. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Bruce surveyed the budding hoodlum and could only imagine the sort of gossip the fourteen year old would kick up in the future. "Well, Jason, aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"You know I was suspended."

"Yes, but we never got to the why."

"Cause I broke a kids nose." Jason answered like a true smartass. He didn't even appear contrite.

Bruce set his phone down with a frown. "Still wondering as to the why."

The youth simply returned Bruce's stare, refusing to say anything more.

"You know what, Alfred can bring your breakfast to your room. Between you and Dick I'v had my fill of bullshit. Get out."

Jason did as told. Truth be told he'd rather eat in his bedroom than with Bruce. Shutting the door behind himself, Jason grabbed his phone and began to mess around. His thoughts were on Dick and what Adrian had said. He felt like it wasn't something he needed to tell Bruce. It was a stupid rumor and Jason didn't want anyone to think he was concerned about it. Though, if he did tell Bruce it would probably get him out of trouble.

Pros and cons.

Maybe Barbara would know what to do.

 

Bruce had thought his last visit had been bad. Well, this was worse.

Dick apartment was cluttered, dishes still unwashed, trash haphazardly tossed, and a shattered mirror. It wasn't hard to realize that things had gotten even more out of hand, and that worried him. And being worried made him frustrated, made him angry.

Bruce picked his way around the clutter to the closed bedroom door and pushed it ajar. Two in the afternoon and Dick was sound asleep with curtains drawn. The air was stale, no circulation which made it smell of booze and old food. The television was on, showing a paused video game. Dick's phone was somewhere nearby, the music coming from it was fairly angry.

And then there was Dick. His bed sheets were in a pile on the floor. The teenager was sprawled, wearing only boxers and a tee, across his bed. The uncovered mattress supported a variety of stains, some of which Bruce recognized as blood. The reason was etched onto Dick's arms. Probably ten or more deep cuts, none of which had been cleaned.

'I hope he sanitized the razor.' Bruce approached and gently examined the wounds. Most were swollen, but Dick was young enough. His body's ability to heal was disgustingly unfair. The billionaire tried to bat away the circling concern. If he didn't he knew this visit would end in a screaming match. He reached out to wake the eighteen-year-old but the name he was about to call caught in his throat. On the nightstand there was the usual powder, but this time it was accompanied by a bottle of benadryl. "DICK!" Bruce jerked the young man up into a sitting position. He had to support the teen as he gave a firm slap in an attempt to wake the figure.

Oh god, had he OD'd?

Checking for a pulse Bruce located an unusually slow beat. He was readying his hand again when Dick groaned and opened his eyes. "Dick?"

The teen appeared confused, his pupils too large. "I changed the locks?" He was swaying in His guardians grasp, obviously disoriented. "I changed the locks."

"You're going to rehab. I'm done waiting for you to talk or come to your senses. You're going and you're going today." Bruce tried to leave, but as soon as he released his grip Dick simply fell backwards onto the mattress. Bruce pulled him back up and gave a shake. "What did you take?"

Dick blinked.

Once again Bruce checked the pulse. He noticed that one of Dick's cuts had reopened and was creating a steady trickle. The alcohol was making the blood thinner than normal and more of a mess. "You're bleeding." It was a stupid observation, one that proved Bruce wasn't thinking straight.

"Good. Blood feels good. It's warm and means I did a good job."

Bruce focused on the pulse and was certain this wasn't an overdose. No, the teenager was just drunk and high. A stupid combination. "What all have you taken?"

Dick's eyes were closed again, but at least he was still conscious. "Mhmm, nothing."

"Why haven't you cleaned these cuts?" Bruce once more released his grip, letting Dick fall back, and quickly headed for the bathroom. Grabbing a clean washcloth he ran it under warm water as he dug out some medical tape and cotton squares. Returning to the bedroom he sat on the edge of the bed and lifted one of the wounded arms. Blotting the wet cloth against damaged skin, he cleaned the dried and fresh blood.

Dick actually whined as if hurt.

"You dig razors into your body and yet cleaning the cuts is too painful?"

"Adrenaline from when I cut makes it not hurt."

Bruce just shook his head as he focused on the two deepest lines. He and Alfred had talked through this a few times. The best way to help Dick was to be understanding. To not make him feel bad. To try and get the Romani to talk it out. But, at this moment, all Bruce wanted to do was shake his son and scream at him to stop. "Why haven't you bothered with stitches? You know it'll scar worse."

Dick's eyes suddenly opened and he turned his head. He stared at Bruce before looked at the arm being cleaned and bandaged. "Scars show you how sorry I am."

"What?"

"Scars show you I'm sorry. I'm making me pay so you don't have to get mad at me." His words were slurred and slow. "I'm so sorry. Cutting stops my brain."

"You're drunk."

"Scars make me ugly. They show how sorry I am. They prove I'm strong."

Bruce didn't reply to the nonsensical words. He studied the irregular slashes and had to admit that it was strange. He'd come across enough cutters, and usually they had a pattern. Dick's arms looked like he'd just closed his eyes and slashed at random.

"Because I am sorry, ok? I'm a bad person, and I hate myself. I'm sorry, Bruce." Dick made to sit up and almost fell over.

Bruce caught the figure with a curse under his breath. He felt Dick's arms moving, as if trying to get away. "Dick, stop. Stop. You're still bleeding."

A sob was the response.

An unexpected sob that made the billionaire freeze. "Dick?" Drunk crying wasn't going to help anybody. He gently pushed the boy away, but it didn't stop the tears.

Dick seemed to balance himself sitting up as tears leaked down his face. He lifted his bloody arm and pushed it to cover his eyes. "I'm so sorry! I didn't want to be this way." His breaths hitched as Bruce forced the arm away. Those famous blue eyes didn't stop their revolt. "I don't want this."

"Don't want what, Dick?"

"Me! I don't want to be me anymore!" The real sobbing began then. Impossible to ignore sobbing that came from depths so dark they seemed impossible to locate. A violent sadness. Dick sat there, chocking on tears and hurried gasps for air.

Bruce felt like an idiot. Part of him was annoyed with this drunken display while the other part would gladly slit his own wrists to make Dick feel better. Alfred had said to be understanding, but at what point did understanding become enabling? Bruce had trained Dick, he'd raised him to be strong and smart and it seemed Dick had been neither lately. Empty alcohol bottles, crushed pills, self harm … What was the next move? If anything, matters appeared to be getting worse.

Suddenly there was added weight as Dick forced himself under Bruce's arm and pushed his head against the man's chest. Bruce made no motion to return the contact. He even went as far as to draw away. Dick's crying seemed to halt instantly at the physical response. The teen pulled away and swiped at his eyes and nose. "Sorry, I shouldn't have … Sorry."

Worst parent of the year goes to… Bruce forced himself to reposition so he was sitting to face Dick. He reached out and drew the youth close and forced a head to his shoulder. His first thought was how badly the kid needed a shower, the second was rehab. As expected, Dick drew closer, knees digging into his guardians thighs as vocal crying started back up. "Talk, Dick. Just talk."

"I hate myself so much, Bruce. I hate everything about me." A gasp as Dick lungs struggled through irregular breathing. "I want to be happy, please let me be happy."

Unsure of how to reply Bruce just nodded. Christ. 'He's in pain and I don't know how to stop it.'

"I wanna go home," Dick whimpered. "But- but I don't even know what that means anymore."

"You can come home, Dick."

Dick pulled away and stared up through wet eyelashes. "It won't matter, don't you get it? No matter where I go, I'll never be home again. Home was a place where I didn't have to think nonstop. I'm tired of thinking so much. Home was sleeping and laughing and … No matter where I go it hurts. I can't even sleep without drugs."

Bruce hadn't wanted to hear that. "You're drunk, Dick. You'll sober up and realize it's all ok." He awkwardly patted the teens back. Apparently that was enough of an invitation for Dick to curl back up, forcibly tucking his head under his guardians chin.

"You're wrong. Being high is the only way I feel ok." What Dick did next seemed subconscious. He lifted a hand and gave a startling aggressive slap to one of his deeper cuts. It started the blood flowing again.

Bruce forced his mouth to remain shut as he observed. Dick's panted breathing seemed to instantly slow as his whole body relaxed. 'Self soothing gone horribly wrong.'

Dick was silent for a few moments. "You don't want to be here."

Bruce was carefully tracing his hand against Dick's broken skin. He felt fever heat around a few infected cuts. "I don't want to see you like this. That's all. I want you well adjusted, chum."

For a few seconds it looked like Dick was about to reply. He opened his mouth only to instantly clamp it shut and shove away from his mentor. He took a few clumsy steps before crouching before the small trash can by the door.

As Bruce listened to the vomiting he reminded himself that the purging would help Dick sober up. That had to count for something. Getting to his feet he began to dig in the chest of drawers for clothing. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweat jacket. Finding a hat took a bit longer, but Bruce wasn't stupid enough to take Dick outdoors without safeguarding his identity a little. Especially with all the tabloids that were being run.

By the time he turned to tell his eldest to get up and dressed Dick was passed out on the carpet.

"Richard!" Bruce tossed the clothes on the bed and pulled the figure up a tad too rough. He was quickly finding this all too much. The worst part had to be that Dick wasn't going to remember any of this. He wouldn't remember how bad it was, how pitifully depressing. Somehow the boy seemed even more belligerent than before he'd thrown up. "Hey!"

Dick groaned as he struggled to stand. "B-Bruce? Why are you here?"

"Oh, for the love of god."

"I changed the locks."

Ignoring the feeble protests of confusion, Bruce forced Dick to sit on the bed. He then grabbed the jeans and rolled them over both of the teens feet, working them up. He forced Dick to stand before tugging them over hips and hooking the button. "This is pathetic, Richard Grayson."

"Why are you here?"

"You changed the locks, yeah, I heard you the first three times." Next up was to remove the soiled shirt, which was a mite easier. He was slipping Dick's arms into the zip hoodie when he met resistance.

"Stop!" Dick ordered. He was trying to turn away, pulling his arms back. His eyes were half open and unfocused, no doubt seeing double.

Refusing to let this ordeal take any longer, Bruce tugged both offending arms by the wrists and gave his son a violent jerk. "No! Be still!" His commanding voice was enough to warrant respect and he was able to zip the jacket up, place the ball cap on and tug the hood over. Anyone who knew Dick would recognize him, but it was all Bruce could manage. "We're going to walk to my car. I need you to focus, ok? The last thing- hey, listen-."

Dick's head had dipped back suddenly, but pulled forward at the angry tone.

"The last thing anyone wants is a picture or video of you wasted, stumbling or vomiting in the street. Got it? You can do this." Bruce snatched Dick's phone and wallet from the nightstand, and in a fit of childish frustration he purposely knocked over the book covered in powder and the half bottle of vodka. He'd come back later and search the place for the remaining alcohol, pills and other illegal substances.

Dick tried to lie back down, but Bruce grabbed him under his arm and jerked him to stand. It took a moment for Dick to find his footing, but once he did they started moving. They made it to the front door and Bruce pushed the Romani against the wall with an order to stay standing. He dug out a pair of flip flops (thank god, he hadn't looked forward to tying shoes) and waited as Dick stepped into them.

Standing back up, Bruce made a point to a take Dick's face between his hands, forcing the eighteen year old to look at him. "Focus. You can do this. I know you can do this."

All Dick offered in reply was a look of confusion.

"What are you going to do, Dick? Huh? Tell me." Bruce dropped one hand to grab his son by the elbow, but left the other against the smooth face that reminded him just how young this kid was. Eighteen and hardly able to grow facial hair. Eighteen and dangerously spiraling out of control.

"M'not supposed to throw up?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Bruce opened the door and the two began their journey to the car.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d By: Leradomi

Bruce was grateful when he and Dick made it to the car. Only a few people had given second glances, and the billionaire simply smiled in reply. It was all he could do at this point. That and hope no one took any pictures. Dick had enough bad gossip circling him as it was, and didn't need any more. It was getting to a point of mild concern for the billionaire, and it was a problem that needed to be corrected.

Alfred had suggested forcing Dick to attend the party Bruce (apparently) was hosting this weekend, but the idea seemed almost as bad as it was good. They would have to force sobriety, and in order to do so, Dick would have to be continuously watched. Not to mention how strange the boy had been acting of late. It was getting hard to tell what would and wouldn't set the young man off. And who knew, Dick might manage to wreck his image even further.

Unlocking the vehicle, Bruce opened the passenger door and directed the teenager to get in. For a moment Dick resisted, but that was solved with a warning hiss of: "get in or else."

By the time Bruce was in the driver's seat, Dick had already passed out. His head resting against the window. Well, at least the teen had buckled himself in. It was his first good choice of the day.

The drive time between Dick's loft and the manor was about forty minutes, and it started smoothly, but halfway through Dick suddenly sat straight up and began gagging.

"Oh, hell no," Bruce flipped on his turn signal, trying to change lanes and get to the side of the road. "Hold it, Dick, ok? Just hold it."

Apparently that wasn't an option. Dick clicked his belt loose and rolled down the window. He leaned out, head into traffic, and emptied his stomach. The scream of car horns picked up, as well as curses. Fortunately, some saint slowed, allowing Bruce room to switch lanes. He turned on his hazards and rolled to a stop as Dick continued to heave. Nothing about this ordeal had been easy, and it seemed like that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

As the vomiting halted, Dick panted.

People passing made a point to continue honking. Bruce simply covered his eyes and counted backwards from ten. It was only once he heard a groan that he looked over. Dick was using his sleeve to wipe his face. Bruce opened his mouth to lecture, but decided against it. The teenager probably wouldn't even remember anyhow.

"Are you good to go?" Bruce asked instead, trying to keep a level head.

The reply was an unsure nod, like the eighteen year old didn't know where he was.

"Buckle up. Try not to touch anything," Bruce said, aware of Dick's vomit covered sleeve. "Almost home." They pulled back into traffic and made it to the manor without further incident. Bruce was thankful when Dick got himself out of the car without any prompting or assistance. Though, as they climbed the stairs to the front doors he suddenly stopped and screwed up his face.

"Why did you take me home?"

Bruce gave his head a shake. "Well, Dick, I really didn't feel up to leaving you to your own defenses. Keep moving. You need to change out of those clothes and shower. Afterwards you can sleep." Apparently the answer was enough to get them moving again. Though once inside, there was no Alfred to greet either of them.

Dick was kicking off his flip flops and tugging at his hood. He kept nearly falling over in the process until he gained the sense to use the wall for support.

"Where is Alfred?" Bruce muttered as he shrugged off his coat.

"What day is it?"

"It's Tuesday." Bruce answered. He looked at Dick and he just stared back at him. He was obviously still drunk. He was more aware than he had been, but still only half present. "Go shower and change."

The Romani did as instructed, heading up the stairs and leaving Bruce to locate Alfred. The socialite dug out his phone and called. Within seconds Alfred picked up.

"Master Bruce?"

"Where are you?"

"Master Jason's school called and asked if today would work to come in. If he apologizes he'll only be suspended for the rest of the week and may return Monday."

Bruce nodded to no one. "He'll apologize then?"

"…One does hope."

"Tell him he needs to." Bruce cleared his throat and began to climb the stairs after Dick. "I stopped by Dick's apartment. It wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. I brought him back home with me, we need to find a rehabilitation center he can go to."

"I'll call Dr. Thompson, sir."

"Thanks." Bruce hung up before a response could be given. He walked towards his bedroom only to realize Dick's bedroom door was shut. There was no noise coming from the room. Pacing over and pushing the door open, he found Dick passed out yet again. Well, at least he'd made it to his bed.

"Dick."

A groan was released as the boy reached over his shoulder and pulled his hood back up. "Back off, my head is killing me."

Back off? Bruce would be delighted, but it wasn't really an option. Not when the teenager was lying in vomit covered clothing. There was no Alfred to pawn this unwanted task off on. No, the butler would be gone for the next hour and then some. "Shower, Dick. I don't want to even know how long it's been since your last one. Just shower, ok?"

A long and discontented exhale as the teenager slowly sat up. He swayed a little, but managed to keep his balance. Then, giving Bruce a rather disgusted look, he got to his feet and stumbled into the adjoining bathroom. It was no surprise when he slammed the door behind him.

Once the sound of running water hit the air Bruce turned and took his leave.

 

Jason was sitting beside Alfred at the conference table. Adrian Pierre and Samuel Salzburg were there as well, each accompanied by their mothers. "Looks like it hurts," Jason had whispered to Adrian. The kid's nose was braced and his face bruised.

Alfred had put a firm hand onto Jason's shoulder and squeezed hard. No doubt trying to reign Jason in.

"Well, Jason, I think you have something you want to say to these boys and their families?" The Dean instructed as he closed the door to ensure privacy. He alone remained standing, looking down at the student he mentally referred to as 'the hood rat'.

Jason blinked up innocently and offered no reply. Alfred cleared his throat in frustration and warning, but the teenager still kept silent.

"You physically attacked these two young men, and seemingly without any provocation. You're fortunate the punishment is merely suspension and not expulsion. Do you understand?" The Dean folded his arms against his chest. Again, he waited for a reply.

When Jason still said nothing Adrian's mother made a noise of protest. "We came all this way to be mocked? Look at my son's face! Why isn't this young man expelled?"

"Because, he's normally well behaved. This is his first offense."

"I'd understand if this were a public school, but it's a private academy. We pay a lot of money to send our kids here as to separate them from faulty school systems!" Mrs. Pierre wasn't going to let this slide."My son says he's Bruce Wayne's newest foster child, and I very much support that. I just don't think having a Crime Alley juvenile delinquent, who has proven to be aggressive, is something parents will allow."

Mrs. Salzburg proved to be more vocal than her seemingly mute son. "I agree completely."

Alfred leaned towards Jason's ear and hissed a warning. "Apologize, young sir. Master Bruce is already in a foul mood. One would think you would want to avoid his wrath."

Jason had been enjoying the show, but Alfred had a point. It was time to take action. So, clearing his throat he gained everyone's attention. "I'm sorry," he lamented, sarcastic down to the bone. "I'm sorry your sons both suffer from being smug little cunts whose feet don't touch the ground. I had assumed you abuse Xanax to help you deal with that fact. B-."

"Enough!" The Dean demanded, slamming a hand against the conference table.

Jason simply continued talking through him. "-I know some dealers in the Alley I could hook you up with. Though-."

"Jason Peter Todd. You will close your mouth and keep it shut." Alfred's voice was ice, and it did the job. The teenager stopped his verbal onslaught. A sigh as the butler got to his feet, motioning for Jason to do the same. "I offer my sincerest apologies to the lads and their mothers, as well to the school. Come along, Jason."

Huh. Apparently they were done with all the 'masters'. Jason got to his feet, happy with the surprised expressions greeting him. He even ruffled Adrian's hair, which made the kid's mother go rigid. "Spread your rumors about Dick now, and just see what happens. I dare you."

"Don't threaten my son." Adrian's mother seethed. "You're lucky we haven't pressed charges."

Jason held up his hands and backed away. He felt fairly good about the meeting. All-in-all, he'd say it'd been a success. His smile was natural, not even Alfred's icy glare could make him feel bad. Bruce would be pissed, sure, but this was still a victory. Private school sucked.

"I'll be starting expulsion paperwork," the Dean was saying to Alfred. "But he needs to get off campus right now."

Neither Jason nor Alfred spoke until the car pulled away from the school. "Master Bruce will not be pleased. I myself am deeply embarrassed."

"I wasn't going to go back to that hellhole. The kids are mostly assholes. Not to mention boring. I don't see why I can't just go back to my old school." He only half meant that. Going back to his old school would mean returning to friends, but Jason wasn't so stupid as to think his old classmates would accept him. No, he'd been living with the richest guy in the city. He'd become the very thing Alley kids loved to hate.

These days Jason was stuck in a kind of limbo. Socially, he didn't belong anywhere. Not really.

"May I inquire as to what you meant when you dared your classmate to spread rumors about Master Richard?" There was honest curiosity.

Jason met Alfred's eyes in the rear view mirror, but then turned his attention to look out the window. He offered no reply.

 

Bruce busied himself for the next fifteen minutes, changing clothes and looking up a few rehab facilities on his phone. He made sure to listen to the water running in the room next door,and once it switched off he pocketed his cell and went into the hall. He waited a minute before knocking on the door.

"Come in."

Bruce could have done without the snarky tone. He entered to find Dick once again sprawled across his bed in pajama pants and a hoodie. "Come on, we're going to the cave." Dick looked surprised, but complied. The two made their way downstairs. They took the lift, as Dick was still wobbly. Neither man spoke. Motioning towards the medical table, Bruce began to pull out various pieces of equipment. "Shirt off." He instructed. "You need stitches."

Dick wasn't making any motions. If anything he looked like he was about to be sick.

"You do recall that I've already seen your arms. We already discussed them. Now stop wasting time and let me stitch them up." Why had the school moved Jason's meeting up? It should be Alfred doing this. Dick listened to Alfred. They never butted heads or fought over something as stupid as this. Granted, the butler had more patience, but Bruce felt he'd been pretty reasonable today. Hell, he'd had to dress the kid, if that wasn't a perfect display of patience, he didn't know what was.

Well, Bruce could try a different approach. "Please, Dick, let me do this. Once I do, you can go upstairs and sleep, ok?"

Surprisingly, it worked. Dick carefully tugged his hoodie over his head. He was still blushing as he pulled himself onto the table. Keeping his eyes focused to his right, he refused to watch as Bruce removed bandages, then cleaned and stitched the wounds.

The socialite made a point to remember trying the gentler approach with Dick. Anything to get the kid to listen without starting a fight.

 

As soon as they'd arrived home, Jason was sent to talk to his guardian. He was now in the cave, Bruce a few feet away, livid. The man was going off on a rant that bad behavior wouldn't be rewarded. Jason was mostly spacing out until Alfred interrupted by coming off the lift to announce that Dick was fast asleep.

"Dick's here?" Jason asked. He was happy to hear that. He loved when the older teen visited.

Both adults stared at him for a few seconds, probably because it was the first he'd spoken since the car.

"Is he sick or something?"

"Well, according to your expertise, I shouldn't be worried. He's just a normal rich kid. Except that he was so completely wasted he couldn't even walk without help," Bruce addressed the butler next, "Thanks Alfred, let me know about any rehab centers you or Leslie decide on."

Jason didn't hide his surprise. "Rehab?!"

"We're discussing you, not Dick." Bruce snapped, turning to face the fourteen year old.

"You were literally just discussing Dick!"

Ignoring the teen's remark, Bruce focused. "If you did all of this just to get into public school, you'll be disappointed. There are many more private places, some of which are even quite religious. I'm sure we could get you into one." The billionaire hoped so anyway, with enough money.

The threat was ineffective. Jason just looked bored.

"Why did you attack your classmates. I want the truth. Alfred said something about them spreading rumors about Dick?"

Jason glanced away and shrugged. "I shut them up, don't worry about it."

"Was it about the drug situation? Dropping out of college?"

Taking a deep breath, the boy shook his head, not especially eager to say his thoughts aloud.

"Jason, what was it?" Bruce's words were clipped. It was clear he was growing impatient.

"Has Dick, like, ever been, you know…attacked?"

That shut Bruce up instantly. He didn't need Jason to use specifics to know what was meant. His brain seemed to spiral away before he forced himself to be logical. "Not that I'm aware. Why? Is that what they were saying?" Terrible possibilities were clicking into place, and they explained Dick behavior lately.

"They said there was a party and he hooked up with a bunch of guys. They acted like it was consensual though. So either they're assholes, or you know – either way, I told them to shut up and they wouldn't, so I made them." Jason blinked at his shoes. "But it got me thinking, you know, with your night work – maybe Dick's been through that?"

"It's something we train for, as you are aware, but no, to my knowledge he's never been sexually abused or assaulted." The billionaire glanced over to where Alfred stood. "Why don't you go up to your room. We'll talk later." As Jason left, Bruce stood still, thinking. The tabloids had mentioned gossip about Dick playing the field, but Bruce knew that wasn't true, at least not recently. Lately Dick appeared uninterested in any kind of romantic liaison.

Oh.

The ever lurking voice in his head whispered its' continual reminder: 'you failed.' Bruce had no business taking in children. How many times had he messed up with Dick? How many times with Jason? How could he have not known Dick's current predicament resulted from something so sinister?

'You don't know for sure.'

True. Bruce tried to reason with himself. There wasn't any proof. All he had to go on was Dick's flux in behavior, the increased drug use, the cutting, the lack of hygiene, the trashed apartment …..the list went on and on. Besides, all of this could easily point to a number of things, depression being the forerunner.

'He hasn't shied away from physical contact. Not really. At least not with the family. Right?'

It was a sad thing to admit, but Bruce didn't know for sure. He had noticed Dick flinch a few times when physical contact came into play, but so what? Just a few days ago Dick had fallen asleep next to Jason. Not to mention earlier today when Bruce had helped the Romani dress. There hadn't been any pulling away. Well, besides when trying to get the hoodie on, but that had just been Dick being difficult and drunk.

'Dick doesn't care anymore. He went from happy and adjusted to depressed and unbalanced.'

Dick was always the type to wear his emotions on his sleeves, but that wasn't the point. No, the problem was how he went from calm and collected one moment, to complete rage the next. And it wasn't just normal anger. It was an out of control, scream at the top of your lungs, kind. The anger had scared Barbara, and it'd led Dick to hit Jason with no pretext.

Bruce wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, but when a hand gently rested on his back he was drawn back to reality. He turned to discover Alfred and shook his head. "I'm tired. I'm really tired."

Alfred seemed to understand and offered a distant smile. "I believe it's time to have a serious conversation with Master Richard, sir."

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Control yourself; take only what you need from it.” MGMT


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d By: Leradomi

Dick awoke to someone calling his name. He jerked to a sitting position, confused as to how someone was in his apartment. He'd changed the locks! There was utter disorientation as he tried to grasp where he was.

Oh.

He was home.

"Dickhead!" Jason called again from the doorway. The kid was dressed for the day, but not in his school uniform. Just jeans, bare feet and t-shirt with a logo Dick didn't recognize. "I'm supposed to wake you up for breakfast. And fair warning, you're going to hate it."

"What? Why?" Dick collapsed back into the clean sheets and struggled to remember how he'd gotten here. This wasn't good. Groaning, Dick ran his hands over his face and into his hair. He wanted to inquire as to what had happened, but didn't like the idea of admitting he'd blacked out.

Jason was talking again. "Pretty sure it's about yesterday. Bruce said I'm supposed to make you get up. I had my breakfast early so I wouldn't have to witness the upcoming shit storm."

"Oh, great." Dick groaned. "Is it Saturday?"

"Wednesday."

"Then why aren't you in your school uniform?"

"Expelled." Jason said with pride.

"Shit, kid – can't imagine that's something to brag about."

Jason simply lifted his shoulders. "At least it got me out of the re-election party Bruce is holding here this weekend."

"Probably got you out of Robin duty too."

"That won't last. With the JLA refusing to let Nightwing operate, Bruce'll need my help. You'll see." Jason smugly turned and left Dick thinking how flawed that logic was.

There was no point hiding from it. Bruce would track him down one way or another. Dick forced himself out of bed and changed into the jeans he'd worn yesterday. He dug through his old chest of drawers and found a long sleeve shirt. It was that or a jacket, and he didn't want anyone seeing his cuts.

As he pulled off his hoodie his eyes widened with surprise. A few stitches decorated his arms, none of which he recalled receiving.

Fuck. That meant Bruce knew. 'Shit!'

Well, nothing to do about it now. He made his way downstairs, heart picking up pace the closer he got to the kitchen.

Upon entering the dining room, Dick found Bruce seated with a cup of coffee and a paper. "Morning." Dick offered, taking a seat a few chairs away.

Bruce nodded, still focused on the news. No motion was made to speak. So, instead they sat in an uneasy silence.

Alfred suddenly appeared and placed a bowl of fruit and some juice in front of Dick. "Good to see you, young sir."

"Heya, Alfie." Dick returned, trying to sound at ease. He wished the butler would stay, but knew better. Alfred didn't intervene when it came to lectures.

It wasn't till the butler exited the kitchen that Bruce lowered his paper and studied Dick.

"Is this the part where I get a lecture? Cause, you know, I'm really sorry. I was an idiot and just maybe drank too much is all."

"Is that so," Bruce questioned dryly. "Just drank a little too much?"

The Romani ducked his head and didn't reply.

"You've been gracing the news lately. Did you know that?"

"Uh, no." The teen felt his face growing warmer.

Bruce pulled out his phone and typed something in. He then slid it down the table towards Dick. "Would you like to see?"

No, Dick didn't want to see, but he was pretty sure this was one of those rhetorical questions. Picking up the phone he found a picture of Bruce helping him down the stairs from his loft, and another of him being helped into the car. Dick didn't remember either. Well, at least Bruce had the sense to put a hat and hood over Dick's head, somewhat protecting his identity.

The article was painful to read though it was mostly assumptions.

"You've become quite the celebrity lately. There was even one about your DUI."

"What? But I don't even have that on my record anymore!"

Bruce motioned for his phone back. "Richard, I'm going to talk now, and you're going to listen. When I'm done, I'd like you to tell me what's going on. Understood?"

Fuck. This was going to be horrible. Jason hadn't been kidding. Dick slowly shrugged, unable to do much else. He felt his body going numb at the prospect of this conversation.

"If you keep doing what you've been doing, you're going to wind up dead or killing someone."

"I don't drink and dri-."

"Stop. I'm talking now." Bruce interrupted, oddly calm. "Drugs, drinking, and self harm where you don't even bother to take care of your wounds? It's idiotic. Do you remember me coming to your apartment yesterday?"

Slowly, Dick shook his head. There was no point lying about it. "No..."

"The last few times I've seen you, you've either been drunk or high or both. When I found you yesterday, I thought you'd OD'd. You had allergy medication out with your usual pain pills and liquor. A stupid, dangerous, idiotic combination that could easily have killed you. You were so wasted you couldn't even dress yourself, Dick. That's bad." Bruce didn't wait for an answer. "You don't remember crying either? Telling me you're punishing yourself, that you're sorry. You said you hated yourself, that you couldn't stand yourself anymore. You kept apologizing again and again."

Dick childishly drew his hands to his ears, regret and shame rushing through him. He closed his eyes and pleaded. "Stop, ok? Just stop. I don't need to hear this."

He was aware of movement, and realized Bruce was sitting down in the chair beside him. Hands pulled his arms down, forcing him to listen.

"Open your eyes," Bruce urged.

Dick didn't know why he obeyed. Eyes now open, he refused to look at his guardian.

"I'd like to know why you're so sorry. I'd like to know what it is that is so hard to face that you have to drink and snort yourself into oblivion. I realize you've struggled with drugs before, but it was never like this. I mean, you've graduated from bad choices to full blown mental illness. Ok?"

"M'not mentally ill." Dick mumbled, looking in the opposite direction.

"Dick, with what you've been doing, yeah, you are suffering from mental illness. You're not thinking correctly, and it's nothing to be ashamed of." As soon as Bruce said that, Dick broke into unexpected tears of relief. This was something he had needed to hear.

Yes, Dick understood that the things he did were stupid. There were times his actions scared him, but stopping seemed impossible. Heck, it was impossible, or so he told himself. Living with a nonstop train of thoughts was more frightening than living a life where he didn't feel.

Dick took big swallows of air, calming himself and trying to get back under control. "Sorry, uh, sorry. Stupid. Don't know why I did that," he muttered ruefully.

Bruce waited patiently, carefully observing. "It's not stupid, chum."

"Please don't call me that right now." Dick managed, using his thumb to remove the moisture from below his eyes. He knew if Bruce kept his nickname up he'd probably wind up dissolving into another fit of tears, and he was far too old for that shit.

"Ok. Well, now comes the part where you tell me what's really going on. The part where you explain why you hate yourself so much, and why you don't even bother with stitches or washing your cuts."

There was no way Dick could do that. There wasn't even the remotest possibility that he could tell the man who'd raised him these past ten years, the truth. It was so far removed. It was too scary. It was humiliating and disgusting. Even though Dick was perfectly aware that Bruce wouldn't hurt him, or make him feel bad. "I don't know."

"We both know that's not true."

"I really don't, ok? I just like getting high is all. It feels good." Dick felt so tired. Exhausted. He focused on the bowl of fruit, tracing a finger around the rim.

Bruce waited for a good minute before speaking. Almost as if he hoped Dick would say more. "Well, I've been thinking about it. I've trained you for a lot of situations."

Dick nodded, aware his body was shivering as his emotions ran wild.

"I was in the cave last night, talking with Jason. He had a question for me regarding you. You wanna know what he-."

"NO!" Dick suddenly exclaimed, gladly interrupting. "No, I don't." He moved to get up, but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down.

"He asked me if you'd ever been sexually assaulted."

Blood turned to ice and Dick began talking without realizing it. "Well, he's an idiot. Of course I haven't. I mean, not seriously. You're always going to encounter a few weirdos out there, but you know that as well as I do. If Jay is worried about something happening to him in the field, maybe he shouldn't be doing this. I'm not mad at him or anything, he just shouldn't ask stuff like that … that's all. Because I haven't." He offered a nervous laugh that sounded as fake as his monologue.

As Bruce listened the more his expression became impossible to read. He ran a hand down his face as he slowly exhaled. Suddenly he reached out and gently grasped the teenagers upper arm. Aware there was a possibility Dick would leave. "WhoDick? Who and when?"

"I don't know what you're going on about, ok? Just because Jason asked a stupid question, doesn't make it true. I'm done talking, so let me go!" He tried to jerk away. "LET ME THE FUCK GO! You're being a fucking asshole, Bruce!"

Any other day Dick would have been reprimanded for the accusation. So it was a relief when Bruce simply released his grip. Dick flew to his feet and for a few seconds he just stared at his mentor. "You guys don't know what you're talking about. Got it? You just make up shit so you won't have to face the fact that I'm a fuck-up."

Bruce's steeled expression only managed to piss Dick off all the more.

"You should have left me at the loft," accused Dick as he took his leave. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Jason's door swing open. All his raw fear and anger found its target. He sped up, watching as the fourteen year old approached him, earbuds in, and a friendly smile.

Dick waited until he was close enough and shoved a hand into the boys chest. He ripped out the headphones then, forcing Jason to listen. "Hey, next time you wanna know something about me, ask me! Don't go running around putting ideas in people's heads!"

Jason knocked Dick's hand away as it came back for another shove. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Or what?! What could you possibly do?"

"What's wrong with you?"

Oh, Dick had enough material to go for days. "You're my problem. You've always been my problem! You move in here and act like you belong, but you don't. You fuck everything up. Just cause Bruce adopted you, doesn't make you my family. I'm not your family! So stay outta my business and don't talk about me ever again."

"Get outta my face, fucktwat," Jason warned, his patience drained. "I don't care how pathetic you are. I don't care if you're fragile and we all need to tip toe around you, I'll put you on your ass."

A deep voice bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. "What's going on?"

Dick ignored Bruce and shoved Jason, hard, knocking him against the wall before passing. He was about to his bedroom when he heard Jason coming up fast behind him. Dick swung around neatly and side stepped, causing Jason to pitch forward and tumble to the ground. Then, before Jason could get back up, Dick used a foot to push him back down.

"Please don't," Dick requested, his sarcastic undertone obvious.

Jason glared up at the eighteen year old and snaked out a hand, trying to grab the Romani's ankle, which Dick easily avoided. Bruce was now storming towards them, and Jason figured if he couldn't physically hurt Dick, he could verbally do so. "Tell me, did the guy prepare you or just shove it in and let you tear?!"

Dick's face instantly grew dark while his eyes became dull. He dropped down, grabbed Jason's shirt and shoved their faces together. "You-."

Jason got in a hard, sharp slap to Dick's right ear. He knew from experience that it hurt.

"Shit." Dick had time to utter the word before he gasped as someone hauled him off the younger figure. "Hey!" He was physically dragged a few feet from Jason before Bruce forcibly pushed him against the wall.

"Don't move." The billionaire snarled, holding Dick back with a hand against the skinny chest.

Jason was getting to his feet, glaring at the two older figures. "I could have taken the crying pussy."

"FUCK YOU!"Dick actually screamed the words. He wasn't sure if they were directed at Jason or Bruce or himself. All he knew was his anger had absorbed his fear, and for that he was thankful. Yet, the trouble was that he hadn't considered his actions through anyone's eyes but his own. To him, his response was appropriate, it made sense, but to everyone else? To everyone else his actions proved he was teetering towards total instability.

"E-NOUGH! Goddamn, Dick!" Bruce's ears were ringing. "Both of you, get to your rooms! It's done. It's over." With his free he gave Jason a little shove towards the open door located down and across the hall. The teen retreated, but not without first offering Dick a vulgar gesture.

"Go to hell," Dick snarled.

Jason slammed his door in reply.

"When I say it's over, I mean it's over. Understand?" A pause was taken as Bruce studied the figure before him. His dark eyebrows drew together in contemplation. "This isn't you."

Dick fumed at the command, question and observation. Once again fear flickered in warning, and he forced his jaw to remain taut.

"You've got nothing to say?"

"Whatever, I'm outta here."He knocked away Bruce's now relaxed hand.

"No, you are not. I have both your phone and your wallet. I'm not letting you go back to your pathetic drug den. So if you want to be alone, you've got a whole bedroom to do just that." Bruce instructed. "And don't even try the 'I'm an adult' rant. I'm not hearing it."

"You can't-."

"Yes. I can."

Dick's eyes burned with uncharacteristic hate. He made a disgruntled noise and turned, going into his room. When he slammed the door, it was hard enough that the pictures on the walls rattled.

Bruce sighed and walked to Jason's room. He opened without knocking and stepped inside. "Don't you think that maybe, just once, you could ignore someone when they're trying to bait you? First school and now this?"

"Dick was the one who started it!"

"You knew perfectly well he and I were having a serious conversation this morning. I'm not excusing his behavior, but at times like these, try and be the bigger person!"

"He's older!"

"I am aware. I'm just as mad at him. But you seem to have the ability to make any situation completely destruct."

Jason crossed his arms, offended. "Of course you take his side. He's the perfect fucking kid in your eyes. Just because you raised him don't make him a good person!"

"I'm not playing this game. You're both to blame. And if I ever hear you say something like what you said to Dick out there, Robin will be benched for a year...and watch your language!"Bruce rebuked before taking his leave.

"Augh!" Jason kicked at the air in a fit of pique as the door clicked shut. This was so unfair! Bruce treated Dick like he was his flesh and blood, his pride and joy. Jason had thought the mothers at his school were bad, but Bruce was just as pathetic. He coddled Dick. It was no wonder the older teen was such a big crybaby.

Everything would always take a backseat to the goddamn eighteen year old across the hall.

Dick had started it!

DICK HAD FUCKING STARTED IT!

Intervals of hot and cold raced through his body as Jason paced back and forth. He hoped Bruce forced Dick into rehab. He hoped Dick was stuck there for months, surrounded by mental patients and annoying assholes. He hoped the food was shit and the beds were worse.

God, he hoped.

It took about fifteen minutes for his anger to alleviate. And when it did his head felt fuzzy and he was tired. But hey, he hadn't broken anything. That, at least, was an improvement.

 

Dick refused to leave his room, locking his door for good measure. He burrowed under his covers and stayed there. Why? 'Cause he was scared shitless. He kept telling himself that he'd convinced Bruce it hadn't been sexual assault. Though, no matter how many times he tried, something told him it wasn't true.

Bruce knew.

Jason knew.

Alfred knew.

His stomach was a mess and his head not much better. He'd thrown up three times already. It was mostly just the water he continued to guzzle from the bathroom faucet. He knew it wasn't withdrawal making him sick, no it was the panic. The panic and the unwanted flashes of memory that assaulted his thoughts at random.

Bruce was the Batman, but he couldn't – he wouldn't be able to prove it. Would he? What if he did? What if he went mental and got someone to talk?

'Who is going to talk?' Dick clapped his ears shut at the memory of being pinned against the bed, too confused to fight back. Echoes of laughter. It had started out as a joke, just a joke... "SHUT UP!" He hadn't meant to yell, but his voice pulled him back to reality.

He needed to drink or get high. This was impossible otherwise.

Sneaking out his window was no longer an option. The upper stories all had the windows redone so that they wouldn't open fully. Apparently another thing he had to thank Jason for. So, Dick grabbed one of his old military cut jackets and a pair of broken-in shoes. He quietly unlocked the door and tipped away, skipping the steps he knew creaked.

He was about to the entrance hall when a throat cleared behind him. Swinging around, he found Alfred. The butler had his arms crossed and a scowl at play.

"Just wanted some fresh air," Dick lied with an innocent smile.

"Ah, I see, and you are creeping downstairs just to take this fabled walk because?"

"Cause I didn't want to bother anyone?"

"Very well, let me accompany on you this stroll. It sounds absolutely delightful," Alfred walked past the teen and opened one of the closets, pulling out his jacket. The same long one he wore for just about everything. "Come along."

Dick shoved his hands in his pockets and followed the butler outdoors. They began to go down the lane in shared silence. Though, halfway to the gate, Alfred spoke.

"You were trying to go back to your place?"

"No." Dick lied.

"You do know I am aware of what has been happening with you. Even though you've neglected calling as of late. Master Bruce usually keeps me informed, and of course I overheard your screaming match with Master Jason."

Dick flushed at that despite the cool air. "Sorry."

"Perhaps it's Master Jason who deserves your apology?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Will you talk to me, Dick? Please?" The voice was lined with sadness. It was the kind that usually got Dick to open up and spill everything, but not this time. Alfred watched as Dick just ducked his head lower. "I heard about the cutting. Thank you for letting Master Bruce stitch you up."

A shrug.

"It makes us feel better. We worry."

"Everything's all good, Alfred. I just need to stop with drugs and stuff. That's all. See, acceptance." He tossed his head with a famous smile.

The butler did not return the gesture. They were drawing near the gate, and both automatically turned around, headed back for the house. "You were leaving to go back to your place, but you'll be angry when I inform you that is where your deeply concerned guardian is returning from."

Dick froze, his blood going cold before a burning rage began to bubble up. "What?!"

"Master Bruce has removing all illegal substances and alcohol from the premises. He also found texts to your drug supplier yesterday, and has informed Commissioner Gordon. Needless to say, you won't be purchasing anything else from that young man." Alfred stopped, aware that Dick wasn't moving. There was no concern in his face as he observed Dick, only determination.

"That son of a bitch! He has no right, this is MY life! How dare that controlling asshole go through my phone and my house! He-."

"Shame on you!" Alfred suddenly snapped. He'd known Dick would lose his temper, and he felt it was time to be the bad cop."He has every right! You are his child and you are drowning! He's doing everything he can to save you!"

Dick was chided into silence, but he remained glaring. His hands were balled into tight fists.

"We have tried to let you figure things out. We have tried to give you space, but you've done nothing to prove that you're capable of sustaining yourself. You may be a legal adult, but it's time to realize that something is very wrong, young man. Master Bruce– look at me Richard!" Alfred waited for the narrowed blue eyes to meet his own. "Master Bruce makes mistakes at times, and he can be unfair, but concerning this, he has actually asked myself and Dr. Thompson for help. He's asked how to approach you, how to talk to you so you don't get worse. That man is doing his best."

"He kicked me out last year!* He hit me!* And this year he's hardly been better. I tried to talk to him, but as soon as he found out I had a slip up he told me to just go home!" Dick argued. No way did he care how hard Bruce was trying. It didn't excuse the invasion of privacy.

Alfred nodded. "Yes, last year you both handled the drug situation poorly. Both of you. As he was the adult, I put a lot of blame on him, but that was then and this is now. Think about it, these past few days has he been unreasonable, or has he tried to help?"

"Whatever. I'm going back inside," Dick snapped, his tone contemptuous. He didn't want to think about whether or not Bruce had been helpful and understanding of late. All he cared about was getting back to his loft and out of this prison.

"Very well, but you are to remain in the manor. You aren't to leave."

Dick ignored him, furious. He began a slight jog back to the house, getting there before the butler. Since when did Alfred become such a jackass? Well, fine, two could play at that. Dick went into the kitchen and found the cabinet where baskets of common medication were stored. The Diphenhydramine was easy to find. It was a normal white bottle with green print. Leslie kept them well stocked, so there were two bottles. Why? Why not. Dick took one and pocketed it in his coat, shutting the cabinet back up and going to the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of Gatorade and a chilled glass bottle of coffee just as Alfred walked in.

The butler raised an eyebrow. "May I help you?"

Dick tried to ignore him, but it didn't work.

"No matter how angry you may be, I am still a person and deserve your respect."

"M'fine, sir." Dick snapped and left, jogging back upstairs to his room. He locked his door behind him and flipped his TV and Xbox on, purely for noise. Snorting Benadryl was idiotic, it burned like a mother, but orally taking a handful of pills plus a little caffeine? He could get some hallucinations going. Yeah, it was a coin toss between seeing and hearing scary shit , but Dick was willing to chance it.

Anything to stop his constant thinking and worrying.

'Yeah, this might make your paranoia worse, dumbass.' Dick opened the bottle and shook out about twenty pills. Problem was, he found himself unable to do anything more than stare at the pink capsules. 'You do this, and they find out…'

It wasn't late enough in the day that he could expect to be left alone. Not after the talk with Bruce this morning, the pathetic fight with Jason, and, of course, Alfred's declaration. Chances were that somebody was going to insist on speaking with him. If he appeared drugged when that happened things would get even worse.

He couldn't do this.

So, returning the pills to the bottle, he went to his closet and found a jacket hanging up. He slipped the bottle in the pocket and then moved the hanger so it was between all the other clothes.

Great.

Now there was just the problem of his overactive brain he had to contend with.

To be continued…

(*) From the first installment from this series Just One More Taste.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason snatched up his screwdriver, brandishing it so Dick could see. "I learned to sleep with this as a kid. You? You learned to sleep being tucked in with stuffed animals. When scary shit happened to me, I had to either fight or shut-up and accept it. You? You just run down the hall to Bruce."

Beta'd By: Leradomi

The first week went far too slowly for Jason Peter Todd.

Dick stuck to his room almost exclusively, but when he did appear it was with a new look: a baseball cap or hood pulled up, allowing him to avoid eye contact with others. Alfred had been disgruntled at first, trying to force Dick to show his face, but after awhile just resigned to telling the older teen how much he missed seeing his eyes, like that might be enough to lower the physically created defenses.

It never was.

In fact, it usually made Dick instantly grumble and leave the vicinity.

Jason hated when that happened. Alfred would smile and quickly turn away, his sadness palpable, even while unspoken.

Alfred spent his time preparing for the next weekends fundraiser. The butler was constantly on the phone, arguing the fine points of the party. It was impressive; the amount of detail the British man poured into such a frivolous affair. Catering, cleaning, guest lists, valet parking, deserts, music, clothing, press, drinks, seating - the list was unending, and there were times Jason would sit at the island in the kitchen and just listen.

There was a kind of comfort knowing Alfred was in control.

Though, that comfort evaporated each night when Jason was forced to a sit-down dinner with Richard Grayson. Alfred had insisted, brokering no argument. The first night had been awful. The two teenagers were still overly sensitive after their most recent fight, and neither had wanted to make peace quite yet.

Dick had made his first appearance with a ball-cap that night. He wore it like impenetrable armor, but as soon as Alfred appeared with their plates the argument began.

"No hats at the table, Master Richard."

Utter silence was the (overly-loud) silent response, accompanied by hidden blue eyes. The pang of hurt that crossed the butlers face was enough to make Jason angry, and he didn't hesitate to make it known. "You don't talk to him like that!"

Dick, who had been slouched in his chair, shifted to appear taller. "I didn't say anything."

"Exactly, you ignored him. He's talking to you!"

"What?! You just told me not to talk to him, like – you know what, forget it," a stuttering, unintelligible break, "just forget it! I'm not hungry anyhows." Dick slammed backwards in an attempt to leave, but Alfred was speaking in staccato, forcing the two to listen.

"You will both finish your meal, be it in friendly conversation or silence. Otherwise, Master Bruce will be told of your inability to coexist. No doubt, I imagine, he will issue a collaborative punishment wherein forced team work will be necessary."

Dick had tilted his head back and flicked the rim of his ball-cap up to momentarily meet Jason's eyes; a hushed, non-verbal agreement in play.

Alfred glanced between the two, aware of their silent communication. "You will act the part of gentlemen at my dinners, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Dick muttered, tugging his hat back over his eyes. "I apologize."

"You're still wearing the hat, mofo," Jason hissed under his breath as the butler disappeared back to the kitchen.

Dick momentarily stilled, his fork raised toward his mouth, and for a moment something hung in the air – an anger inner twined amidst something inconsolable. But then the eighteen-year-old returned to movement.

He said nothing.

He did nothing.

And the hat stayed in place.

After that, when Dick passed Jason in the hall, the fourteen-year-old made a point to offer obscene gestures, all of which were ignored. That had pissed Jason off, so he'd resorted to running his mouth, saying every filthy thing he could think of. It had almost been enough to make him happy, but Dick finally got fed up and started throwing his own slurs and insults.

The two teens really did create a potent potpourri blend of offensive language and remarks.

Alfred had caught them at it twice, and the second time he followed up on his threat to tell Bruce.

That had sucked because they were both assigned to learn Dutch, and every night Alfred would quiz their progress. Though, it hadn't been all bad and turned into a kind of game. Now, when they passed in the hall, they'd toss out newly acquired words, trying to arrange insults but usually just making each other laugh. So, by that Friday, they had started to collaborate and learn the words together.

Their favorite insult they'd come across had been: Grote puinhoop (big mess), which Jason had found strange considering the amount of cursing both did in English, though maybe that's what made it so humorous. That and the pronunciation. One of them would mutter it under their breath to either Alfred or Bruce and the other boy would dissolve into laughter.

It wasn't until Jason overheard Alfred telling Bruce that learning the language had brought the two 'boys' closer that Dutch became a drag to learn yet again.

Thus, that Sunday, ended the short run of 'grote puinhoop'.

Jason had been allowed to start back at a new school that Monday, and it had been hard on both teens. Jason was buried in work as he tried to catch up in his new classes, so much so that his language punishment had been lifted, leaving Dick to study alone. The eighteen year old hadn't liked that, so he'd stopped as well, and instead lay in bed binge watching TV shows on his iPad. That had pissed Bruce off, but the man attempted to to be civil whereas Dick was simply obstinate.

Which made dinners painful.

TUESDAY’S DINNER:

"Learn any new words today, Dick?"

"No."

"Well, it will be a great asset to your skill set as Nightwing."

WEDNESDAY’S DINNER:

"Learn any new words today, Dick?"

The Romani had just lowered his head, allowing the brim of his ball-cap to cover his eyes, ignoring the question.

"No? Ok, well what did you do?"

"Nothing."

"I see ... let's make a plan for tomorrow."

This had earned a groan that Bruce pretended not to hear as he rattled off three simple tasks for Dick to accomplish before the following dinner. 1) Learn five new Dutch words 2) Work out in the gym for thirty-five minutes 3) Sort through his old boxes in the attic for donations.

THURSDAY’S DINNER:

"Alfred said you didn't do anything on the list we made?"

"You can give all my old shit away. I don't care, so technically that's one thing off your list."

"That's unacceptable."

"No, it's a grote puinhoop."

"Richard-."

"Jesus, would you give it up? Maybe if you let me go back to my place I wouldn't fucking ignore your stupid lists and sage advice."

"Three hours. You have three hours to finish that goddamn list. And lose the hat!"

"And if I don't?"

"You get to accompany me to work tomorrow, and I plan to be there all day."

Dick had the list done in under an hour; but he'd kept the hat.

This led to the here and now of Friday's dinner. Jason was standing in front of Dick's door, hands deep in his pockets, using his foot to kick-knock. "Dinner, Dickhead." There was the sound of someone getting up and the door opened, showing a newly awoken Dick Grayson. He stepped into the hall, tugging the hood on his zip-up to cover his head and shield his eyes.

"Please tell me Bruce isn't home."

"Think so. Sorry," Jason said as they started to walk. "It sucks." He meant it too. Bruce might be attempting the 'understanding' attitude, but it still was pretty horrific. Honestly, Jason thought if Dick would stop being such a little asshole, things could go smoother, but he knew better than say anything.

"When I was a kid I loved the nights he'd be home for dinner. Now it's a punishment."

"You're not the only one suffering."

They were almost to the dining room, so Dick curbed his reply into a simple statement: "Eet smakelijk." The fact that Jason had no idea what he said, save that he'd spoken Dutch, caused a small flutter of hope. Maybe dinner wouldn't be a game of tug-of-war mixed with shadow-tag.

Then again, this was Dick. Just a few days ago the Romani had displayed his advancement in the language. It'd been after school, and the two had taken half an hour for Xbox.

Jason had made a simple tease, trying to incorporate their new language. "Hold on to your 'broekie'!"

Dick had stilled, thumbs pausing for only a millisecond as he easily translated. "You're the only 'rookie' I see here." He'd then directed the onscreen player to use a combination of a freeze bomb, 25 percent burn explosive, and a few well planted weight traps to effectively drain Jason's character's health.

Jason's grip on his controller had tightened in anger at the loss of the game. "Fuck!" A few moments later he had been relaxed enough to question Dick's comment. "What do you mean rookie? I said 'broekie.’”

"You mean 'broek', which means pants. 'Broekie’ means rookie, kinda like how it sounds. You're Americanizing it, trying to make it plural when it already is, or can be - depending on the sentence structure."

That was Dick, an expert in gaming, languages, and straight up perfect. He probably knew more than enough to blimp off Bruce radar, but for whatever reason he wasn't doing so, and it was wearing thin on everyone.

Jason entered first to find Bruce already seated and scrolling through his phone, only looking up to access before looking returning his attention. Dick took a chair, avoiding eye contact, and began to eat as quickly as possible. Jason never understood this tactic, but the Romani tried it every night and had yet to succeed.

"How was school?" Bruce usually started this way, and Jason tried not to blame Dick for the nightly inquiry. It was really getting old, and the good old days of eating in silence seemed like a far off dream.

"Fine. I'm all caught up. Nothing really to talk about."

"Socially?"

Ok. Maybe Jason did hate Dick a little and blame him a lot. The very idea that Bruce was trying to force this conversation caused hackles to rise. Jason forced a passive expression and shrugged. "A wellspring of options. Some good, some bad, but to answer everyone's underlying concern: No. I'm not getting into any trouble."

Dick had already began chuckling and tried to divert to his milk instead. As to why the eighteen year old found anything humorous was beyond Jason. So, he ignored it. There was the clatter of utensils on plates for awhile before Bruce went to phase two. "And you, Dick?"

"You already asked Alfred about me. So, why even bother getting it from the horse? Horse source."

That had Jason crack a grin. "I believe you mean paardmond. Or as we Americans say, 'horse's mouth'."

"'Demond van het paard' is a better translation. But then again, what do I know? It's not like I've been tasked to learn frickin' Dutch."

Jason thought that, perhaps, Dick was taking it too far, so he just rolled his eyes and focused on dinner.

Bruce was quiet, taking another bite of his salad as he considered a reply. "Thank you for accomplishing everything you set out to do."

When Dick muttered: "Everything you set out for me to do," everyone heard and wisely ignored it. Jason actually thought they might get through the night unscathed, but then Alfred came out into the room with the pretense of checking everyone's drinks. "I trust you two gentlemen remember tomorrow nights fundraiser?"

The question had clearly been directed at Bruce and Dick, but the eighteen year old just looked between his guardian and Jason, waiting for them to respond.

"Yes, thank you," Bruce said, pushing away from the table and pausing as Dick remained silent.

"Jason?" Dick pressed, polite as all get-out. "They want an answer."

"Yeah, but not from me, Dickhead!"

"Well, they aren't talking to me, and see Alfie? Right there, he called me Dickhead, I told you he's still doing it!"

Bruce seemed unsure of himself when he spoke, probably because he knew where it would lead. Currently, the eighteen-year-old wasn't know for his clear thinking or smooth transitions between moods, and challenging the Romani was like more like Russian roulette than a civil conversation. "Dick, you're attending, not Jason. I told you last week. It's to help smooth over your reputation in the media."

Every ounce of humor was wiped from Dick's face at the statement as the color in his cheeks rose. He shook his head, fumbling with his hands as he shoved them into his sweat jacket. "So, you want me to attend as the friggin' sideshow entertainment to give your 'high society friends' something to gossip about? I am not going to your self-serving political gala, Bruce."

The collective sigh was silent, but Jason felt it released all the same.

"Master Richard, you know we're only trying to help you-."

"Then why make me go, huh? It's not for me, none of this is for me. It's all about making sure the Wayne family doesn't lose face. Same as always. It's all Bruce cares about, and it's all you care about too, Alfred."

"Richard," Bruce warned, but Alfred held up a hand that instantly silence the billionaire.

Jason decided that he wasn't going to sit around for the millionth argument of back and forth that no one seemed to win, so instead collected his place setting and vanished into the kitchen, ignoring Alfred's bereaved remarks on how improper it was for him to clear the table.

That night, Jason suited up with Bruce and the two headed into the city. Neither spoke of the past days, dinners, or of Dick. It was a welcome change of pace, and when they finally pulled back into the cave, those the early hours of Saturday morning, Jason couldn't stop a sigh. He showered, dressed, but then hesitated before retreating up the stairs. Instead, he walked over to the batcomputer. "I don't want to go to my room."

Bruce, who had been dictating, paused to glance over.

"Dick'll hear me come up," Jason explained as he tried to push away conflicting emotions of guilt and annoyance.

"Ah."

"Do you think you could ease up? Hell, just let him go out as Nightwing every now and again. That might help? He's probably restless."

Batman simply stared, holding the teen in his sights. "He's been banned by the JLA, so he needs Diana and Kal-El to agree – which they won't. It's far too soon."

"But-."

"He's got an indoor pool, a gym, and acres and acres of land … He's not restless, he's depressed."

"Well, clearly, but-."

"And I assure you, nobody has been hard on him. Dick has three things he's been assigned each day. Alfred and I are giving him space before pressing for him for more. The ball, as it were, is entirely in Dick's court." The answer sounded harsh, but it was anything but. "If he's complaining too much, you should tell him that."

To this, Jason made a face, "Right, and then he'll be mad at me and have nobody to talk to."

"That will be on him. He shouldn't put everything on you when he has other family available." And just like that the Dark Knight returned to his dictations.

So, the fourteen year old went up to his room, deciding he'd tell Dick off if need be. He was tired and only wanted to crawl into his warm bed and snuggle down under soft covers with nothing but the ceiling fan to accompany the silence. He'd worked hard this week to catch up in class. He'd sat through awkward family dinners. And he'd listened to a never ending list of complaints from Dick each night. Yes, last weekend they'd had fun, and that had been enough for Jason to be compliant, just not tonight.

Tonight he was going to sleep.

He dug into his nightstand and pulled out the flat-head screwdriver he slept with each night. His mother had given it to him a long time ago, utterly stoned, and told him he had to learn to take care of himself or he'd die. He'd been six. Six, surrounded by rotting food and hands that offered kindness one second and abuse the next.

Jason had learned, pretty quick, that the flat head was near pointless, yet he kept it near. Under his pillow, the protection of his parents was always close by. Mostly useless, yet comforting all the same.

He was hardly in his pajamas when his door banged open and Dick entered, iPad in hand and hood over head. "Look at this," the Romani said as he jumped onto the bed, landing on his knees before twisting to sit cross legged. "Some guy caught you and Bruce on his camera, made a short video."

Interest peaked, Jason walked over and sat beside the other teen, their shoulders bumping together. He watched a 5 second clip of Batman and Robin swinging between buildings. The most impressive part was the guy freaking out like a fanboy. "That guy's got issues," Jason muttered as he stood and went to the other side of the bed to pull back the covers and crawl in.

Dick, oblivious, continued to search for other things online. Jason was almost asleep when Dick's voice cut in, forcing him back to unwanted awareness. "Bruce is making me go tomorrow," he began, self pity seeping into every word.

The groan Jason emitted was purposeful. "Dick, I'm sleeping!"

"Sorry, it's just … I'm going to have to, you know, socialize."

"You love talking, Dickhead, you'll be fine."

Dick shuttered, hunching over the electronic in his lap. "I don't want to go, but Alfred just said that 'we all have to do things we don't want to', as if that's any help."

"Well, we do. It's true. That's true. Es verdad and so on. Buenas noches."

"Currently I'm only doing things I don't want to."

"Oh, for Christ-sake, Dickie, you're such a whiny bitch. All you do is sleep and fuck around on your iPad." Jason knew he was being far too harsh, but tonight had made him realize how much Dick had been getting on his nerves. "Your biggest problem is learning a few words and some chores. I'd say you've got it pretty fucking good."

Dick hadn't turned to face him the whole rant, but now that the silence fell he retorted: "You're right, I've got it made. Hope patrol was-."

"Don't try it! Don't make me feel guilty 'cause I can still go out. You were snorting and drinking like you'd been born to it, and since we're being honest, I think you deserve everything Bruce has dished out. So maybe-."

"Fuck off, Jason. You don't know shit."

"You need to learn how to save yourself, Goldilocks. You might have grown up as Robin, and I'm aware you saw some fucked up shit, but at the end of the day you had a fucking 'daddy' who held you, tucked you in, and made the monsters go away. Lots of people don't have that, they don't get the luxury of being dragged home and protected." Jason flexed his fingers, feeling his screwdriver and conviction. "We have to learn to do it ourselves."

Now it was Dick's turn to be angry. "You don't know my life, so stop thinking I'm this spoiled, pampered rich kid!"

"But you are!" Jason sat up and glared at the eighteen year old sitting on the bed beside him. "You so fucking are. Your parents died, and yeah, there was your stint in juvie, but lets face it – you went from parents who loved you, to Bruce and Alfred who love you exactly the same! I don't feel bad sayin' it; you've been loved and wanted your entire life! Any problem you've ever had is magically cured."

It was untrue, it was untrue and too much to hear. Dick twisted off the bed, angry and indignant. Jason didn't have a clue. Jason just assumed he knew more because he grew up poor. "I'm sorry you were born in Crime Alley, but you stack up your own misery and use it as a podium to preach from. You're right, I've got Bruce and Alfred, but that doesn't mean I don't go through the same shit as you. Besides, aren't you a tad hypercritical? Look who adopted you without a second thought. You think I got that?"

Jason simply smiled and shrugged. "You love to be hurt by that fact, you selfish prick. Yeah, sorry your daddy adopted me. I'm sorry you've been forced to share for the first time in your perfect princess life."

"Share? You seem to forget that legally I don't have parents, you do! So don't-."

"If that were the case then why are you still hanging around? You spend all your time bitching about how unfair Bruce is, but you never leave."

"He won't let me!"

"You won't let you! Last I checked Bruce wasn't the kind of guy who held people against their will. You're still here because of one simple truth: your dad gave you an order and you can't bear to disobey."

"That's not true. You know that's not true."

"Then why are you here? You say you want to leave, so what are you doing sticking around?" Jason slowly got to his feet. "You're eighteen, he can't do anything. I mean, what the hell? You afraid he'll drag you back and send you to bed without supper? You're eighteen, grow a pair! If you hate it, do something. Otherwise stop complaining so fucking much."

"Shut up!" Dick snarled as he felt heat rise in his face. Jason had a point, Bruce really couldn't do anything. So, why was he still here? He forced the question away, too perturbed to focus.

"See, where I'm from, we get beaten, stomped on, and then we turn around and love those people because more often than not loyalty is the only redeeming quality we have, unquestioning loyalty, like a pissed on dog that just keeps coming back for more." Jason snatched up his screwdriver, brandishing it so Dick could see. "I learned to sleep with this as a kid. You? You learned to sleep being tucked in with stuffed animals. When scary shit happened to me, I had to either fight or shut-up and accept it. You? You just run down the hall to Bruce."

Dick's heart had already been thumping too fast, now it seemed to pick up all the more. He didn't want Jason to be right, he didn't want to even consider the possibility that yeah, he was super lucky and had no right to complain. "I'm sorry your life sucked, but I think if an alley kid ever saw you, they'd think the same damn thing."

Jason nodded, unexpectedly. "I am well aware. But I don't moan and bitch, do I?"

"No, you get off on making everyone around you feel like shit. No doubt you learned that from your fucked-up family. You're right, I do hate that Bruce adopted you, but I can't even imagine how hard it is for you-."

"Oh, for fucks sake," Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. "Here you go again."

"-All you do is say that I've no right to complain, that I've had it 'oh-so-good,' and you're right. My parents loved me. Bruce and Alfred love me. But you-."

"I swear to god if you say I'm unloved, I'll laugh. At you. Hard."

It was Dick's turn to smile now as he prepared to land a low-blow; to end the argument and win. "Your mother chose to be blasted out of her mind instead of loving you. Your dad only noticed you when you were in the way, then he'd just shove you aside. Now you're here, and seeing me must be torturous. The knowledge that nobody's ever picked you first, that you were only adopted because I was gone. But I'm back now, and you're scared as shit because you're afraid you'll wake up, one day, all alone. You'll realize it wasn't that nobody wanted you. It's just that you're fuckin' unlovable."

"RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!"

Dick flinched and instantly ducked his head, his face turning all the more red. How long had Alfred been there? Jason's face was unreadable, as if he didn't care one way or another, though Dick doubted that was true. Slowly, he made to turn and face the butler.

 

To be continued…

DUTCH WORDS:

Eet smakelijk: eat well, let's eat, eat in good taste …basically something you say before a meal.

Broek: pants

Preuts: priss(y)?

Grote puinhoop: a big mess


End file.
